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CONSTANTINOPLE 


BY 

EDMONDO    DE    AMICIS 


TRANSLATED      FROM      THE      SEVENTH     ITALIAN     EDITION 


BY 

CAROLINE    TILTON 


NEW    YORK 

G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

1S2    Fifth    Avenue 

1878 

ih 


Copyright,  1878,  by  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The  Arrival i 

Five  Hours  After 18 

The  Bridge 23 

Stamboul 32 

At  the  Inn 42 

Constantinople 47 

Galata 49 

The  Great  Bazaar 71 

The  Light 95 

Birds 98 

Memorials 100 

Resemblances 102 

Costume 104 

The  Future  Constantinople 106 

The  Dogs  of  Constantinople 108 

The  Eunuchs 114 

The  Army 120 

Idleness 127 

Night 130 

Life  at  Constantinople 132 

Italians .       .       .135 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Theatres 138 

Cookery 140 

Mahomet 144 

Ramazan 146 

Antique  Constantinople 148 

The  Armenians 153 

The  Hebrews 158 

The  Bath 160 

The  Tower  of  the  Seraskiarat 164 

Constantinople 167 

Santa  Sofia 169 

dolma  bagtche 190 

Turkish  Women 206 

Yanghen  Var 238 

The  Walls 247 

The  Old  Seraglio         .  265 

Last  Days 292 

The  Turks 304 

The  Bosphorus 316 


CONSTANTINOPLE, 


THE    ARRIVAL. 


The  emotion  I  felt  on  entering  Constantinople,  almost  ob- 
literated from  my  recollection  all  that  I  had  seen  in  my  ten  days 
voyage  from  the  Straits  of  Messina  to  the  mouth  of  the  Bos- 
phorus.  The  blue  Ionian  Sea,  motionless  as  a  lake,  the  distant 
mountains  of  the  Morea  tinted  with  rose  by  the  first  rays  of  the 
sun,  the  ruins  of  Athens,  the  Gulf  of  Salonica,  Lemnos  Tenedos, 
the  Dardanelles,  and  many  persons  and  things  that  had 
diverted  me  during  the  voyage,  all  grew  pale  in  my  mind  at  the 
sight  of  the  Golden  Horn  ;  and  now,  if  I  wish  to  describe  them, 
I  must  work  more  from  imagination  than  from  memory. 

In  order  that  the  first  page  of  my  book  may  issue  warm  and 
living  from  my  mind,  it  must  commence  on  the  last  night  of  the 
voyage,  in  the  middle  of  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  at  the  moment 
when  the  captain  of  the  ship  approached  me,  and  putting  his 
hands  upon  my  shoulders,  said,  "  Signori,  to-morrow  at  dawn 
we  shall  see  the  first  minarets  of  Stamboul." 

Ah  !  reader,  full  of  money  and  ennui ;  you,  who  a  few  years 
ago,  when  you  felt  a  whim  to  visit  Constantinople,  replenished 
your  purse,  packed  your  valise,  and  within  twenty-four  hours 


2  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

quietly  departed  as  for  a  short  country  visit,  uncertain  up  to  the 
last  moment  whether  you  should  not  after  all,  turn  your  steps 
to  Baden-Baden  !  If  the  captain  had  said  to  you,  "  To-morrow 
morning  we  shall  see  Stamboul,"  you  would  have  answered 
phlegmatically,  "I  am  glad  to  hear  it."  But  you  must  have 
nursed  the  wish  for  ten  years,  have  passed  many  winter  even- 
ings sadly  studying  the  map  of  the  East,  have  inflamed  your 
imagination  with  the  reading  of  a  hundred  books,  have  wandered 
over  one  half  of  Europe  in  the  effort  to  console  yourself  for  not 
being  able  to  see  the  other  half,  have  been  nailed  for  one  year 
to  a  desk  with  that  purpose  only,  have  made  a  thousand  small 
sacrifices,  and  count  upon  count,  and  castle  upon  castle,  and 
have  gone  through  many  domestic  battles  ;  you  must  finally 
have  passed  nine  sleepless  nights  at  sea  with  that  immense  and 
luminous  image  before  your  eyes,  so  happy  as  even  to  be  con- 
scious of  a  faint  feeling  of  remorse  at  the  thought  of  the  dear 
ones  left  behind  at  home  ;  and  then  you  might  understand  what 
these  words  meant,  "  To-morrow  at  dawn,  we  shall  see  the  first 
minarets  of  Stamboul  ;"  and  instead  of  answering  quietly,  "  I 
am  glad  to  hear  it,"  you  would  have  struck  a  formidable  blow 
with  your  closed  fist  upon  the  parapet  of  the  ship  as  I  did. 

One  great  pleasure  for  me  was  the  profound  conviction  I  had 
that  my  immense  expectations  could  not  be  delusive.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  about  Constantinople,  even  the  most  diffident 
traveller  is  certain  of  his  facts  ;  no  one  has  ever  been  deceived, 
and  there  are  none  of  the  fascinations  of  great  memories  and 
the  habit  of  admiration.  It  is  one  universal  and  sovereign 
beauty,  before  which  poet  and  archeologist,  ambassador  and 
trader,  prince  and  sailor,  sons  of  the  north  and  daughters  of  the 


THE  ARRIVAL.  3 

south,  all  are  overcome  with  wonder.  It  is  the  most  beautiful 
spot  on  the  earth,  and  so  judged  by  all  the  world.  Writers  of 
travels  arriving  there  are  in  despair.  Perthusers  stammers, 
Tournefort  says  that  language  is  impotent,  Fonqueville  thinks 
himself  transported  into  another  planet,  La  Croix  is  bewildered, 
the  Viconte  de  Marcellus  becomes  ecstatic,  Lamartine  gives 
thanks  to  God,  Gautier  doubts  the  reality  of  what  he  sees,  and 
one  and  all  accumulate  image  upon  image  ;  are  as  brilliant  as 
possible  in  style,  and  torment  themselves  in  vain  to  find  expres- 
sions that  are  not  miserably  beneath  their  thought.  Chateau- 
briand alone  describes  his  entrance  into  Constantinople  with  a 
remarkable  air  of  tranquillity  of  mind  ;  but  he  does  not  fail  to 
dwell  upon  the  beauty  of  the  spectacle,  the  most  beautiful  in 
the  world,  he  says,  while  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague,  using 
the  same  expression,  drops  a  perhaps,  as  if  tacitly  leaving  the 
first  place  to  her  own  beauty,  of  which  she  thought  so  much. 

There  is,  however,  a  certain  cold  German  who  says  that 
the  loveliest  illusions  of  youth  and  even  the  dreams  of  a  first 
love  are  pale  imaginations  in  the  presence  of  that  sense  of 
sweetness  that  pervades  the  soul  at  the  sight  of  this  enchanted 
region  ;  and  a  learned  Frenchman  affirms  that  the  first  impres- 
sion made  by  Constantinople  is  that  of  terror.  Let  the  reader 
imagine  the  illusions  which  such  words  of  fire  a  hundred 
times  repeated,  must  have  caused  in  the  brains  of  two  enthu- 
siastic young  men,  one  of  twenty-four,  and  the  other  twenty- 
eight  years  of  age  !  But  even  such  illustrious  praises  did  not 
content  us,  and  we  sought  the  testimony  of  the  sailors.  Even 
they,  poor,  rough  fellows  as  they  were,  in  attempting  to  give  an 
idea  of  such  beauty,  felt  the  need  of  some  word  by  simile  beyond 


4  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

the  ordinary,  and  sought  it,  turning  their  eyes  here  and  there, 
pulling  their  fingers,  and  making  attempts  at  description  with 
that  voice  that  sounds  as  if  it  came  from  a  distance,  and  those 
large,  slow  gestures  with  which  such  men  express  their  wonder 
when  words  fail  them.  "To  come  into  Constantinople  on  a 
fine  morning,"  said  the  head  steersman,  "you  may  believe  me, 
Signori,  it  is  a  great  moment  in  a  man's  life." 

Even  the  weather  smiled  on  us ;  it  was  a  warm,  serene 
night ;  the  sea  caressed  the  sides  of  the  vessel  with  a  gentle 
murmur ;  the  masts,  and  spars,  and  smallest  cordage  were 
drawn  clear  and  motionless  upon  the  starry  heaven  ;  the  ship 
did  not  appear  to  move.  At  the  prow  there  lay  a  crowd  of 
Turks  peacefully  smoking  their  narghiles  with  their  faces  turned 
up  to  the  moon,  their  white  turbans  shining  like  silver  in  her 
rays ;  at  the  stern,  a  group  of  people  of  every  nation,  among 
them  a  hungry-looking  company  of  Greek  comedians  who  had 
embarked  at  the  Piraeus.  I  have  still  before  me,  in  the  midst 
of  a  bevy  of  Russian  babies  going  to  Odessa  with  their  mother, 
the  charming  face  of  the  little  Olga,  all  astonishment  that  I 
could  not  understand  her  language,  and  provoked  that  her 
questions  three  times  repeated  should  receive  no  intelligible 
answer.  On  one  side  of  me  there  is  a  fat  and  dirty  Greek 
priest  with  his  hat  like  a  basket  turned  upside  down,  who  is 
trying  with  a  glass  to  discover  the  Archipelago  of  Marmora ; 
on  the  other,  an  evangelical  English  minister,  cold  and  rigid  as 
a  statue,  who  for  three  days  has  not  uttered  a  word  or  looked 
a  living  soul  in  the  face ;  before  me  are  two  pretty  Athenian 
sisters  with  red  caps  and  hair  falling  in  tresses  over  their  shoul- 
ders, who  the  instant  any  one  looks  at  them,  turn  both  together 


THE  ARRIVAL.  5 

toward  the  sea  in  order  to  display  their  profiles ;  a  little  further 
on  an  Armenian  merchant  fingers  the  beads  of  his  oriental 
rosary,  a  group  of  Jews  in  antique  costume,  Albanians  with 
their  white  petticoats,  a  French  governess  who  puts  on  melan- 
choly airs,  a  few  of  those  ordinary  looking  travellers  with  noth- 
ing about  them  to  indicate  their  country  or  their  trade,  and  in 
the  midst  of  them  a  small  Turkish  family,  consisting  of  a  papa 
in  a  fez,  a  mamma  in  a  veil,  and  two  babies  in  full  pantaloons, 
all  the  four  crouched  under  an  awning  upon  a  heap  of  mat- 
tresses and  cushions,  and  surrounded  by  a  quantity  of  baubles 
of  every  description  and  of  every  color  under  the  sun. 

The  approach  to  Constantinople  had  inspired  every  one  with 
an  unusual  vivaciiy.  Almost  all  the  faces  that  were  visible  by 
the  light  of  the  ship's  lanterns  were  cheerful  and  bright.  The 
Russian  children  jumped  about  their  mother,  and  called  out  the 
ancient  name  of  Stamboul ;  Zavegorod  !  Zavegorod  !  Here 
and  there  among  the  groups  could  be  heard  the  names  of 
Galata,  of  Pera,  of  Scutari ;  they  shone  in  my  fancy  like  the 
first  sparkles  of  a  great  firework  that  was  just  about  to  burst 
forth.  Even  the  sailors  were  content  to  arrive  at  a  place  where, 
as  they  said,  they  could  forget  for  an  hour  all  the  miseries  of 
life.  Meantime  a  movement  was  perceptible  at  the  prow 
among  that  white  sea  of  turbans  ;  even  those  idle  and  impassi- 
ble Mussulmen  beheld  with  the  eyes  of  their  imagination  the 
fantastic  outline  of  Ummelemia  undulating  upon  the  horizon  ; 
the  mother  of  the  world  ;  the  *  city,"  as  the  Koran  says,  "  of 
which  one  side  looks  upon  the  land  and  the  other  upon  the 
sea."  The  very  vessel  seemed  to  quiver  with  impatience  and 
to  move  forward  of  her  own  will  without  the  aid  of  her  engines. 


6  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Every  now  and  then  I  leaned  upon  the  railing  and  looked  at 
the  sea,  from  which  seemed  to  arise  the  confused  murmur  of  a 
hundred  voices.  They  were  the  voices  of  those  who  loved  me, 
saying,  "  Go  on,  go  on,  son,  brother,  friend  !  go  on,  enjoy  your 
Constantinople.  You  have  fairly  earned  it,  be  happy,  and  God 
be  with  you." 

Not  until  night  did  any  of  the  travellers  descend  under 
cover.  My  friend  and  I  went  in  among  the  last,  with  slow  and 
reluctant  steps,  unwilling  to  enclose  within  four  narrow  walls  a 
joy  for  which  the  whole  circuit  of  the  Propontis  seemed  insuf- 
ficient. About  half-way  down  the  stairs  we  heard  the  voice  of 
the  captain  inviting  us  to  come  up  in  the  morning  upon  the 
officers'  reserved  deck.  "  Be  up  before  sunrise,"  he  called  ; 
"  whichever  one  comes  late  shall  be  thrown  into  the  sea." 

A  more  superfluous  threat  was  never  made  since  the  world 
existed.  I  never  closed  an  eye.  I  believe  that  the  youthful 
Mahomet  the  Second,  when  on  that  famous  night  of  Adrianople, 
agitated  by  his  vision  of  the  city  of  Constantinople,  he  turned 
and  re-turned  on  his  uneasy  couch,  did  not  make  so  many  revo- 
lutions as  I  did  in  my  berth  during  those  four  tedious  hours  of 
waiting ;  in  order  to  dominate  my  nerves,  I  tried  to  count  up  to 
a  thousand,  to  keep  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  white  water  wreaths, 
which  constantly  rose  around  the  port-hole  of  my  cabin,  to  hum 
an  air  in  cadence  with  the  monotonous  beat  of  the  engines  ;  but 
it  was  all  in  vain.  I  was  feverish,  my  breath  came  in  gasps, 
and  the  night  seemed  eternal.  At  the  first  faint  sign  of  dawn  I 
rose — my  friend  was  already  afoot ;  we  dressed  in  wild  haste 
and  in  three  bounds  were  on  deck.  Horror  of  horrors  !  a  black 
fog !     The  horizon  was  completely  veiled  on  every  side  ;  rain 


THE  ARRIVAL.  7 

seemed  imminent;  the  great  spectacle  of  the  entrance  to  Con- 
stantinople was  lost,  our  most  ardent  hopes  deluded ;  our  voy- 
age, in  one  word,  a  failure !  I  was  annihilated.  At  this 
moment  the  captain  appeared  with  his  unfailing  smile  upon  his 
lip.  There  was  no  need  of  speech,  he  saw  and  understood,  and 
striking  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  said,  in  a  tone  of  consola- 
tion, "  It  is  nothing,  nothing,  do  not  be  discouraged,  gentlemen, 
rather  bless  the  fog,  thanks  to  it,  we  shall  make  the  finest  en- 
trance into  Constantinople  that  could  be  wished  for;  in  two 
hours  we  shall  have  clear  weather,  take  my  word  for  it!"  I  felt 
my  life  come  back  to  me.  We  ascended  to  the  officers'  deck  ; 
at  the  prow  all  the  Turks  were  already  seated  with  crossed  legs 
upon  their  carpets,  their  faces  turned  toward  Constantinople. 
In  a  few  minutes  all  the  other  passengers  came  forth,  armed 
with  glasses  of  various  kinds,  and  planted  themselves  in  a  long 
file  against  the  left  hand  railing,  as  in  the  gallery  of  a  theatre. 
There  was  a  fresh  breeze  blowing ;  no  one  spoke.  All  eyes 
and  every  glass,  became  gradually  fixed  upon  the  northern 
shore  of  the  Sea  of  Marmora  ;  but  as  yet,  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen.  The  fog  now  formed  a  whitish  band  along  the  hori- 
zon ;  above,  the  sky  shone  clear  and  golden,  directly  in  front  of 
us,  on  the  bows,  appeared  confusedly  the  little  archipelago  of 
the  Nine  Islands  of  the  Princes,  the  demonesi  of  the  ancients,  a 
pleasure  resort  of  the  court  in  the  time  of  the  Lower  Empire, 
and  now  used  for  the  same  purpose  by  the  inhabitants  of  Con- 
stantinople. 

The  two  shores  of  the  Sea  of  Marmora  were  still  completely 
hidden;  not  until  an  hour  had  passed,  did  those  on  deck  behold 
them.   But,  it  is  impossible  to  understand  any  description  of  the 


8  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

entrance  to  Constantinople  without  first  having  clearly  in  one's 
mind  the  configuration  of  the  city.  We  will  suppose  the  reader 
to  have  in  front  of  him  the  mouth  of  the  Bosphorus,  that  arm  of 
the  sea  which  divides  Asia  from  Europe  and  joins  the  Sea  of 
Marmora  to  the  Black  Sea.  So  placed,  he  has  on  his  right  hand 
the  Asiatic  coast,  and  the  European  shore  on  his  left ;  here  the 
antique  Thrace,  and  there  the  ancient  Hanatolia ;  moving  on- 
ward, threading  this  arm  of  the  sea,  the  moiifh  is  hardly  passed 
before  there  appears,  on  the  left,  a  gulf,  a  narrow  roadstead, 
which  lies  at  a  right  angle  with  the  Bosphorus,  and  penetrates 
for  several  miles  into  the  European  land,  curving  like  the  horn 
of  an  ox ;  whence  its  name  of  Golden  Horn,  or  horn  of  abun- 
dance, because  through  it  Cowed,  when  it  was  the  port  of  Byzan- 
tium, the  wealth  of  three  continents. 

At  the  angle  of  the  European  shore,  which  on  one  side  is 
bathed  by  the  waters  of  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  and  on  the  other 
by  those  of  the  Golden  Horn,  where  once  Byzantium  stood,  now 
rises  upon  seven  hills,  Stamboul,  the  Turkish  city, — at  the  other 
angle,  marked  by  the  Golden  Horn  and  the  Bosphorus,  stand 
Galata  and  Pera,  the  Frankish  cities, — opposite  the  mouth  of  the 
Golden  Horn,  upon  the  hills  of  the  Asiatic  side,  is  the  city  of 
Scutari.  That  then  which  is  called  Constantinople  is  composed 
of  three  great  cities,  divided  by  the  sea  but  placed  the  one  op- 
posite the  other,  and  the  third  facing  the  other  two,  and  so  near, 
each  to  each,  that  the  edifices  of  the  three  cities  can  be  seen 
distinctly  from  either,  like  Paris  or  London  at  the  wider  parts 
of  the  Seine  or  the  Thames. 

The  point  of  the  triangle  upon  which  stands  Stamboul, 
bends  toward  the  Golden  Horn,  and  is  that  famous  Seraglio 


THE  ARRIVAL.  9 

Point  which  up  to  the  last  moment  hides  from  the  eyes  of  those 
approaching  by  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  the  view  of  the  two  shores 
of  the  Horn,  that  is;  the  finest  and  most  beautiful  part  of  Con- 
stantinople. 

It  was  the  captain  of  the  ship,  who  with  his  seaman's  eye 
discovered  the  first  glimpse  of  Stamboul. 

The  two  Athenian  sisters,  the  Russian  family,  the  English 
clergyman,  Yank  aftid  I,  and  others  who  were  all  going  to  Con- 
stantinople for  the  first  time,  stood  about  him  in  a  compact 
group,  silent,  and  straining  our  eyes  in  vain  to  pierce  the  fog, 
when  he,  pointing  to  the  left  towards  the  European  shore, 
called  out,  "  Signori,  behold  the  first  gleam." 

It  was  a  white  point,  the  summit  of  a  very  high  minaret 
whose  lower  portion  was  still  concealed.  Every  glass  was  at 
once  levelled  at  it,  and  every  eye  stared  at  that  small  aperture 
in  the  fog  as  if  they  hoped  to  make  it  larger.  The  ship  ad- 
vanced swiftly.  In  a  few  moments  a  dim  outline  appeared 
beside  the  minaret,  then  two,  then  three,  then  many,  which  little 
by  little  took  the  form  of  houses,  and  stretched  out  in  lengthen- 
ing file.  In  front  and  to  the  right  of  us  every  thing  was  still 
veiled  in  fog.  What  we  saw  gradually  appearing  was  that  part 
of  Stamboul  which  stretched  out,  forming  a  curve  of  about  four 
Italian  miles,  upon  the  northern  shore  of  the  Sea  of  Marmora, 
between  Seraglio  Point  and  the  castle  of  the  Seven  Towers. 
But  the  hill  of  the  Seraglio  was  still  covered. 

Behind  the  houses  shone  forth  one  after  another  the  mina- 
rets, tall  and  white,  with  their  summits  bathed  in  rosy  light 
from  the  ascending  sun.  Under  the  houses  began  to  appear  the 
old  battlemented  walls — strengthened  at  equal  distances  by 
1* 


IO  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

towers,  that  encircle  the  city  in  unbroken  line,  the  sea  breaking 
upon  them.  In  a  short  time  a  tract  of  about  two  miles  in 
length  of  the  city  was  visible  ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  spec- 
tacle did  not  answer  my  expectation.  We  were  off  the  point 
where  Lamartine  had  asked  himself,  "  Is  this  Constantinople," 
and  exclaimed,  "  What  a  delusion  !  "  "  Captain,"  I  called  out, 
"  Is  this  Constantinople  ?"  The  captain,  pointing  forward  with 
his  hand,  "  Oh,  man  of  little  faith  !"  he  cried — "  look  there  !" 

I  looked  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  amazement.  An 
enormous  shade,  a  mass  of  building  of  great  height  and  light- 
ness, still  covered  by  a  vaporous  veil,  rose  to  the  skies  from  the 
summit  of  a  hill,  and  rounded  gloriously  into  the  air,  in  the 
midst  of  four  slender  and  lofty  minarets,  whose  silvery  points 
glittered  in  the  first  rays  of  the  sun.  "  Santa  Sophia  /"  shouted 
a  sailor  ;  and  one  of  the  two  Athenian  girls  murmured  to  her- 
self, "  JIagia  Sophia  ! '"  (The  Holy  Wisdom.)  The  Turks  at 
the  prow  rose  to  their  feet.  But  already  before  and  around  the 
great  basilica,  other  enormous  domes  and  minarets,  crowded 
and  mingled  like  a  grove  of  gigantic  palm  trees  without 
branches,  shone  dimly  through  the  mist.  "The  mosque  of 
Sultan  Ahmed,"  called  out  the  captain,  pointing  ;  "  the  mosque 
of  Bajazet,  the  mosque  of  Osman,  the  mosque  of  Latili,  the 
mosque  of  Soliman."  But  no  one  gave  heed  to  him  any  more, 
the  fog  parted  on  every  side,  and  through  the  rents  shone 
mosques,  towers,  mosses  of  verdure,  houses  upon  houses ;  and 
as  we  advanced,  higher  rose  the  city,  and  more  and  more  dis- 
tinctly were  displayed  her  grand,  broken  and  capricious  outlines, 
white,  green,  rosy  and  glittering  in  the  light.  Four  miles  of 
city,  all  that  part  of  Stamboul  that  looks  upon  the  Sea  of  Mar- 


THE  ARRIVAL.  '     II 

mora,  lay  spread  out  before  us,  and  her  dark  walls  and  many- 
colored  houses  were  reflected  in  the  clear  and  sparkling  water 
as  in  a  mirror. 

Suddenly  the  ship  stopped  to  await  the  dissipation  of 
the  fog  before  advancing  further,  which  still  lay  like  a  thick 
curtain  across  the  mouth  of  the  Bosphorus.,  After  a  few 
moments  we  cautiously  proceeded.  We  drew  near  to  the 
height  of  the  old  Seraglio.  Then  my  curiosity  became  uncon- 
trollable. 

"  Turn  your  face  that  way,"  said  the  captain,  "  and  wait  for 
the  moment  when  the  whole  hill  becomes  visible."  After  a 
moment,  "Now!  "  exclaimed  the  captain.  I  turned  ;  the  ship 
was  motionless.  We  were  close  in  front  of  the  hill.  It  is  a 
great  hill,  all  covered  with  cypresses,  pines,  firs,  and  gigantic 
plane  trees,  which  project  their  branches  far  beyond  the  walls, 
and  throw  their  shadows  upon  the  water,  and  from  the  midst 
of  this  mass  of  verdure,  arise  in  disorder,  separate  and  in 
groups,  as  if  thrown  about  by  chance,  roofs  of  kiosks,  little 
pavilions  crowned  with  galleries,  silvery  cupolas,  small  edifices 
of  strange  and  graceful  forms,  with  grated  windows  and  Ara- 
besque portals  ;  half  hidden,  and  leaving  to  the  fancy  to  create 
a  labyrinth  of  gardens,  corridors,  courts ;  a  whole  city  shut  up 
in  a  grove ;  separated  from  the  world,  and  full  of  mystery  and 
sadness.  , 

In  that  moment,  though  still  slightly  veiled  in  mist,  the  sun 
shone  full  upon  it.  No  living  soul  was  to  be  seen,  no  sound 
broke  the  silence.  We  stood  with  our  eyes  fixed  upon  those 
heights  crowned  with  the  memories  of  four  centuries  of  glory, 
pleasure,  love,  conspiracy  and  blood,  the  throne,  the  citadel,  the 


12  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

tomb  of  the  Great  Ottoman  Empire  ;  and  no  one  spoke  or 
moved. 

Suddenly  the  mate  called  out ;  "  Signori,  Scutari !"  All  eyes 
were  turned  to  the  Asiatic  shore.  There  lay  Scutari,  the  golden 
city,  stretching  out  of  sight  over  the  tops  and  sides  of  her  hills, 
veiled  in  the  luminous  morning  mists,  smiling  and  fresh  as  if 
created  by  the  touch  of  a  magic  wand.  Who  can  express  that 
spectacle  ?  The  language  that  serves  to  describe  our  cities 
would  give  no  idea  of  that  immense  variety  of  color  and  of 
prospect,  of  that  wondrous  confusion  of  city  and  of  country,  of 
gay,  austere,  European,  Oriental,  fanciful,  charming  and  grand  ! 
Imagine  a  city  composed  of  ten  thousand  little  purple  and 
yellow  houses,  of  ten  thousand  gardens  of  luxuriant  green,  of  a 
hundred  mosques  as  white  as  snow;  beyond  a  forest  of  enor- 
mous cypresses,  the  largest  cemetery  in  the  East,  at  the  end 
immeasurable  white  barracks,  villages  grouped  upon  heights, 
behind  which  peep  out  others  half  hidden  in  verdure  ;  and 
over  all  tops  of  minarets  and  white  domes  shining  half  way  up 
the  spine  of  a  mountain  that  closes  in  the  horizon  like  a  cur- 
tain ;  a  great  city  sprinkled  into  an  immense  garden,  upon  a 
shore  here  broken  by  jagged  precipices  clothed  with  sycamores, 
and  there  melting  into  verdant  plains  dotted  with  spots  of  shade 
and  flowers  ;  and  the  azure  mirror  of  the  Bosphorus  reflecting 
all  their  beauty.  , 

While  I  stood  looking  at  Scutari,  my  friend  touched  me 
with  his  elbow  to  announce  the  discovery  of  another  city,  and 
there  it  was  indeed,  looking  toward  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  be- 
yond Scutari  and  on  the  Asiatic  side  a  long  line  of  houses, 
mosques  and  gardens,  near  which  the  ship  was  passing,  and 


THE  ARRIVAL.  1 3 

which  had  until  now  been  hidden  by  the  fog.  With  our  glasses 
we  could  distinctly  see  the  cafes,  bazaars,  the  European 
houses,  the  staircases,  the  walls,  bordered  by  kitchen  gardens, 
and  the  small  boats  scattered  along  the  shore.  It  was  Kadi 
Kioi  (the  village  of  the  Judges)  built  upon  the  ruins  of  the 
ancient  Calcedonia,  once  the  rival  of  Byzantium,  that  Calce- 
donia  which  was  founded  six  hundred  and  eighty-five  years  be- 
fore Christ,  by  the  Megarians  to  whom  the  oracle  of  Delphi 
gave  the  title  of  the  blind  people,  for  having  chosen  that  site 
instead  of  the  point  where  Stamboul  stands. 

At  last  came  glimmering  through  the  veil  some  whitish 
spots,  then  the  vague  outline  of  a  great  height,  then  the  scat- 
tered and  vivid  glitter  of  window  panes  shining  in  the  sun,  and 
finally  Galata  and  Pera  in  full  light,  a  mountain  of  many  col- 
ored houses,  one  above  the  other ;  a  lofty  city  crowned  with 
minarets,  cupolas,  and  cypresses ;  upon  the  summit  the  monu- 
mental palaces  of  the  different  embassies,  and  the  great  Tower 
of  Galata ;  at  the  foot  the  vast  arsenal  of  Tophane  and  a  forest 
of  ships ;  and  as  the  fog  receded,  the  city  lengthened  rapidly 
along  the  Bosphorus,  and  quarter  after  quarter  started  forth 
stretching  from  the  hill  tops  down  to  the  sea,  vast,  thickly  sown 
with  houses,  and  dotted  with  white  mosques,  rows  of  ships,  lit- 
tle doors,  palaces  rising  from  the  water;  pavilions,  gardens, 
kiosks,  groves  ;  and  dimly  seen  in  the  mist  beyond,  the  sun- 
gilded  summits  of  still  other  quarters;  a  glow  of  colors,  an  ex- 
uberance of  verdure,  a  perspective  of  lovely  views,  a  grandeur, 
a  delight,  a  grace  to  call  forth  the  wildest  exclamations.  On 
the  ship  every  body  stood  with  open  mouths  ;  passengers  and 
sailors,  Turks,  Europeans  and  babies,  not  a  word  was  spoken, 


1 4  CONS  TA  N  TINOPLE. 

no  one  knew  which  way  to  look.  We  had  on  one  side  Scutari 
and  Kadi-Kioi ;  on  the  other  side  the  hill  of  the  Seraglio ;  in 
front  Galata,  Pera,  the  Bosphorus.  To  see  them  all  one  must 
spin  round  and  round,  and  spinning  throw  on  every  side  our 
hungry  eyes,  laughing  and  gesticulating  without  speech.  Great 
Heaven  !  what  a  moment ! 

And  yet  the  grandest  and  loveliest  remained  to  be  seen. 
We  still  lay  motionless  outside  of  Seraglio  Point,  and  beyond 
that  only  could  be  seen  the  Golden  Horn,  and  the  most  won- 
derful view  of  Constantinople  is  on  the  Golden  Horn.  "  Gen- 
tlemen, attention,"  called  out  the  captain,  before  giving  the 
order  to  advance  ;  "  In  three  minutes  we  shall  be  off  Con- 
stantinople." A  cold  shiver  ran  over  me,  my  heart  leaped. 
With  what  feverish  impatience  I  awaited  the  blessed  word, 
Forward !  The  ship  moved,  we  were  off!  Kings,  princes, 
potentates,  and  all  ye  fortunate  of  the  earth,  at  that  moment 
my  post  upon  the  ship's  deck  was  worth  to  me  all  your 
treasury. 

One  moment,  two,  to  pass  Seraglio  Point,  a  glimpse  of  an 
enormous  space  filled  with  light  and  colors,  the  point  is  passed. 
Behold  Constantinople  !  sublime,  superb  Constantinople,  glory 
to  creation  and  man  !     I  had  never  dreamed  of  such  beauty  ! 

And  I,  poor  wretch,  to  describe,  to  dare  to  profane  with  my 
poor  weak  words  that  divine  vision  !  Who  could  describe  it  ? 
Chateaubriand,  Lamartine,  Gautier,  what  have  you  stammered  ? 
And  yet  imagination  and  words  rush  to  my  mind  while  they 
flee  my  pen.  But  let  me  try.  The  Golden  Horn  directly  be- 
fore us  like  a  river ;  and  on  either  shore  two  chains  of  heights 
on  which  rise  and  lengthen  out  two  parallel  chains  of  city,  em- 


THE  ARRIVAL.  1 5 

bracing  eight  miles  of  hills,  valleys,  bays  and  promontories ; 
a  hundred  amphitheatres  of  monuments  and  gardens ;  houses, 
mosques,  bazaars,  seraglios,  baths,  kiosks,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  colors  ;  in  the  midst  thousands  of  minarets  with  shining  pin- 
nacles rising  into  the  sky  like  columns  of  ivory  ;  groves  of 
cypress  trees  descending  in  long  lines  from  the  heights  to  the 
sea,  engarlanding  suburbs  and  ports  ;  and  a  vigorous  vegetation 
springing  and  gushing  out  everywhere,  waving  plume-like  on 
the  summits,  encircling  the  roofs  and  hanging  over  into  the 
water.  To  the  right  Galata,  faced  by  a  forest  of  masts  and 
sails  and  flags ;  above  Galata,  Pera,  the  vast  outlines  of  her 
European  palaces  drawn  upon  the  sky ;  in  front,  a  bridge  con- 
necting the  two  shores,  and  traversed  by  two  opposing  throngs 
of  many-colored  people  ;  to  the  left  Stamboul  stretched  upon 
her  broad  hills,  upon  each  of  which  rises  a  gigantic  mosque 
with  leaden  dome  and  golden  pinnacles ;  Saint  Sophia,  white 
and  rose  colored  ;  Sultan  Ahmed,  flanked  by  six  minarets ; 
Soliman  the  Great  crowned  with  ten  domes ;  Sultana  Valide 
mirrored  in  the  waters;  on  the  fourth  hill  the  Mosque  of 
Mahomet  Second  ;  on  the  fifth  the  Mosque  of  Selim  ;  on  the 
sixth  the  Seraglio  of  Tekyr  ;  and  above  them  all  the  white  Tower 
of  the  Seraskiarat  which  overlooks  the  shores  of  both  continents 
from  the  Dardanelles  to  the  Black  Sea.  Beyond  the  sixth  hill 
of  Stamboul  and  beyond  Galata  there  is  nothing  but  vague 
profiles  to  be  seen,  points  of  city  or  suburb,  foreshortened 
glimpses  of  ports,  fleets,  groves,  vanishing  into  the  azure  air, 
looking  not  like  realities,  but  visions  of  the  light  and  atmos- 
phere. How  shall  I  seize  the  features  of  this  prodigious  pic- 
ture ?    The  eye  is  fixed  for  one  moment  upon  the  nearer  shore, 


1 6  CONS  TA  N  TINOPLE. 

upon  a  Turkish  house  or  gilded  minaret ;  but  suddenly  it  darts 
off  into  that  depth  of  luminous  space  towards  which  fly  and 
vanish  the  two  lines  of  fantastic  cities,  followed  by  the  bewil- 
dered mind  of  the  spectator.  An  infinite  serenity  and  majesty 
is  diffused  over  all  this  loveliness  ;  a  something  of  youthful  and 
passionate  which  rouses  a  thousand  memories  of  tales  of  en- 
chantment and  visions  of  spring  ;  a  something  airy  and  grandly 
mysterious  that  carries  the  fancy  beyond  realities.  The  misty 
sky  tinted  with  opal  and  with  silver,  forms  a  background  on 
which  everything  is  drawn  with  marvelous  clearness  and  precis- 
ion ;  the  sapphire-colored  sea  dotted  with  crimson  buoys  gives 
back  the  minarets  in  trembling  white  reflections ;  the  domes 
glitter;  all  the  immensity  of  vegetation  waves  and  quivers  in 
the  morning  air;  clouds  of  doves  hover  about  the  mosques; 
thousands  of  gilded  and  pointed  caiques  dart  about  the  waters; 
the  breeze  from  the  Black  Sea  brings  perfume  from  ten  thou- 
sand gardens ;  and  when  drunk  with  the  beauty  of  this  Para- 
dise, and  forgetful  of  all  else,  you  turn  away,  you  see  behind 
you  with  renewed  wonder  the  shores  of  Asia  closing  the  pano- 
rama with  the  pompous  splendors  of  Scutari  and  the  snowy 
peaks  of  Mount  Olympus,  the  Sea  of  Marmora  sprinkled  with 
islets  and  white  with  sails ;  and  the  Bosphorus  covered  with 
ships  winding  between  the  endless  files  of  temples,  palaces, 
and  villas  and  losing  itself  mysteriously  among  the  smiling 
hills  of  the  East. 

The  first  emotion  past,  I  looked  at  my  fellow  travellers ; 
their  faces  were  all  changed.  The  two  Athenian  ladies  had 
wet  eyes ;  the  Russian  in  that  solemn  moment,  held  the  little 
Olga  to  her  breast ;  even  the  cold  English  priest,  for  the  first 


THE  ARRIVAL.  \J 

time,  let  his  voice  be   heard,  exclaiming  from  time  to  time, 
"'  wonderful !   wonderful !" 

The  ship  had  stopped  not  far  from  the  bridge  ;  in  a  few 
moments  there  had  gathered  about  it  a  crowd  of  boats,  and  a 
throng  of  Turks,  Greeks,  Armenians  and  Jews,  who,  swearing 
and  cursing  in  barbarous  Italian,  took  possession  of  our  persons 
and  effects.  After  a  vain  attempt  at  resistance,  we  embraced 
the  captain,  kissed  the  little  Olga,  said  good-bye  to  all,  and 
descended  into  a  four-oared  caique,  which  took  us  to  the  cus- 
tom house,  from  whence  vye  climbed  through  a  labyrinth  of 
narrow  streets  to  the  Hotel  de  Byzantium,  upon  the  top  of  the 
hill  of  Pera. 


1 8  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


FIVE  HOURS  AFTER. 

The  vision  of  this  morning  has  vanished.  The  Constan- 
tinople of  light  and  beaut}'  has  given  place  to  a  monstrous  city, 
scattered  about  over  an  infinity  of  hills  and  valleys  ;  it  is  a 
labyrinth  of  human  ant-hills,  cemeteries,  ruins  and  solitudes  \ 
a  confusion  of  civilization  and  barbarism  which  presents  an 
image  of  all  the  cities  upon  earth,  and  gathers  to  itself  all  the 
aspects  of  human  life.  It  is  really  but  the  skeleton  of  a  great 
city,  of  which  the  smaller  part  is  walls  and  the  rest  an  enormous 
agglomeration  of  barracks,  an  interminable  Asiatic  encamp- 
ment ;  in  which  swarms  a  population  that  has  never  been 
counted,  of  people  of  every  race  and  every  religion.  It  is  a 
great  city  in  process  of  transformation,  composed  of  ancient 
cities  that  are  in  decay,  new  cities  of  yesterday,  and  other 
cities  now  being  born  ;  everything  is  in  confusion  ;  on  every 
side  are  seen  the  traces  of  gigantic  works,  mountains  pierced, 
hills  cut  down,  houses  leveled  to  the  ground,  great  streets 
designed  ;  an  immense  mass  of  rubbish  and  remains  of  con- 
flagrations upon  ground  forever  tormented  by  the  hand  of  man. 
There  is  a  disorder,  a  confusion,  of  the  most  incongruous 
objects,  a  succession  of  the  strangest  and  most  unexpected 
sights,  that  make  one's  head  turn  round  ;  you  go  to  the  end  of 
a  fine  street,  it  is  closed  by  a  ravine  or  precipice  ;  you  come 
out  of  the  theatre  to  find  yourself  in  the  midst  of  tombs ;  you 


FIVE  HOURS  AFTER.  1 9 

climb  to  the  top  of  a  hill,  to  find  a  forest  under  your  feet  and  a 
city  on  the  hill  opposite  to  you  ;  you  turn  suddenly  to  look  at 
the  quarter  you  have  just  traversed  and  you  find  it  at  the  bot- 
tom of  a  deep  gorge,  half  hidden  in  trees  ;  you  turn  towards  a 
house,  it  is  a  port ;  you  go  up  a  street,  there  is  no  more  city ; 
only  a  deserted  defile  from  which  nothing  but  the  sky  is  visible  ; 
cities  start  forth,  hide  themselves,  rise  above  your  head, 
under  your  feet,  behind  your  back,  far  and  near,  in  the  sun,  in 
the  shade,  among  groves,  on  the  sea  ;  take  a  step  in  advance, 
behold  an  immense  panorama ;  take  a  step  backward, 
there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  ;  lift  your  eyes,  a  thousand  mina- 
rets ;  descend  one  step,  they  are  all  gone.  The  .streets,  bent 
into  infinite  angles,  wind  about  among  small  hills,  are  raised 
on  terraces,  skirt  ravines  ;  pass  under  aqueducts,  break  into 
alleys,  run  down  steps,  through  bushes,  rocks,  ruins,  sand  hills. 
Here  and  there,  the  great  city  takes  as  it  were,  a  breathing 
time  in  the  country,  and  then  begins  again,  thicker,  livelier, 
more  highly  colored  ;  here  it  is  a  plain,  there  it  climbs,  farther 
on  it  rushes  downwards,  disperses,  and  again  crowds  together ; 
in  one  place  it  smokes  and  is  land,  in  another  sleeps  ;  now  it  is 
all  red,  now  all  white,  again  all  gold  colors,  and  further  on  it 
presents  the  aspect  of  a  mountain  of  flowers.  The  elegant 
city,  the  village,  the  open  country,  the  gardens,  the  port,  the 
desert,  the  market,  the  burial  place,  alternate — without  end, 
rising  one  above  the  other,  in  steps,  so  that  at  some  points 
these  embrace  at  one  glance,  all  the  diversities  of  a  province ;  an 
infinity  of  fantastic  outlines  are  drawn  everywhere  upon  the 
sky  and  water,  so  thickly  and  richly  designed,  and  with  such  a 
wondrous  variety  of  architecture,  that  they  cheat  the  eye,  and 


20  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

seem  to  be  mingling  and  twisting  themselves  together.  In  the 
midst  of  Turkish  houses,  rise  European  palaces  ;  behind  the 
minaret  stands  the  bell-tower ;  above  the  terrace,  the  dome  ; 
beside  the  dome,  the  battlemented  wall ;  the  Chinese  roofs  of 
kiosks  hang  over  the  facades  of  theatres  ;  the  grated  balconies 
of  the  harem  confront  the  plate  glass  window ;  Moorish  lattices 
look  upon  railed  terraces  ;  niches  with  the  Madonna  within,  are 
set  beneath  Arabian  arches  ;  sepulchres  are  in  the  courtyards, 
and  towers  among  the  laborers'  cabins  ;  mosques,  synagogues, 
Greek  churches,  Catholic  churches,  Armenian  churches,  rise  one 
above  the  other,  amid  a  confusion  of  vanes,  cypresses,  umbrella 
pines,  fig  and  plane  trees,  that  stretch  their  branches  over  the 
roofs, — an  indescribable  architecture,  apparently  of  expediency, 
lends  itself  to  the  caprices  of  the  ground,  with  a  crowd  of  houses 
cut  into  points,  in  the  form  of  triangular  towers,  of  erect  and 
overturned  pyramids,  surrounded  with  bridges,  ditches,  props, 
gathered  together  like  the  broken  fragments  of  a  mountain. 

At  every  hundred  paces  all  is  changed.  Here  you  are  in  a 
suburb  of  Marseilles,  and  it  is  an  Asiatic  village  ;  again,  a 
Greek  quarter ;  again,  a  suburb  of  Trebizond.  By  the  tongues, 
by  the  faces,  by  the  aspect  of  the  houses,  you  recognize  that  the 
country  is  changed.  There  are  points  of  France,  strips  of 
Italy,  fragments  of  England,  relics  of  Russia.  Upon  the  im- 
mense facade  of  the  city  is  represented  in  architecture,  and  in 
columns,  the  great  struggle  that  is  being  fought  out,  between 
the  Christians  that  reconquer  and  the  children  of  Islam,  that 
defend  with  all  their  strength,  the  sacred  soil.  Stamboul,  once 
a  Turkish  city  only,  is  now  assailed  on  every  side  by  Christian 
quarters,  which   slowly  eat   into  it   along   the   shores  of  the 


FIVE  HOURS  AFTER.  21 

Golden  Horn  and  the  Sea  of  Marmora  ;  on  the  other  side  the 
conquest  proceeds  with  fury  j  churches,  palaces,  hospitals,  pub- 
lic gardens,  factories,  schools,  are  crushing  the  Mussulman 
quarters,  overwhelming  the  cemeteries,  advancing  from  hill  to 
hill,  and  already  vaguely  designing  upon  the  distracted  land 
the  outlines  of  a  great  city,  that  will  one  day  cover  the  Euro- 
pean shore  of  the  Bosphorus,  as  Stamboul  now  covers  the  shore 
of  the  Golden  Horn. 

But  from  these  general  observations  the  mind  is  constantly 
distracted  by  a  thousand  new  things  ;  there  is  a  convent  of 
Dervishes  in  one  street,  a  Moorish  barrack  in  another,  and 
Turkish  cafes,  bazaars,  fountains,  aqueducts,  at  every  turn. 
In  one  quarter  of  an  hour  you  must  change  your  manner  of 
proceeding  ten  times.  You  go  down,  you  climb  up,  you  jump 
down  a  declivity,  ascend  a  stone  staircase,  sink  in  the  mud  and 
clamber  over  a  hundred  obstacles,  make  your  way  now  through 
the  crowd,  now  through  the  bushes,  now.  through  a  forest  of 
rags  hung  out,  now  you  hold  your  nose,  and  anon  breathe 
waves  of  perfumed  air.  From  the  glowing  light  of  an  elevated 
open  space  whence  can  be  seen  the  Bosphorus,  Asia,  and  the 
infinite  sky,  you  drop  by  a  few  steps  into  the  gloom  and  obscu- 
rity of  a  network  of  alleys,  flanked  by  houses  falling  to  ruin, 
and  strewn  with  stones  like  the  bed  of  a  rivulet.  From  the 
fresh  and  perfumed  shade  of  trees,  into  suffocating  dust  and 
overpowering  sun  ;  from  places  full  of  noise  and  color,  into 
sepulchral  recesses,  where  a  human  voice  is  never  heard ; 
from  the  divine  Orient  of  our  dreams,  into  another  Orient, 
gloomy,  dirty,  decrepit,  that  gradually  takes  possession  of  the 
imagination.     After  a  few  hours  spent  in  this  way,  should  any 


2  2  CONS  TA  N  TINOPLE. 

one  suddenly  ask  what  is  Constantinople  like  ?  You  could  only 
strike  your  hand  upon  your  forehead,  and  try  to  still  the  tem- 
pest of  thoughts.  Constantinople  is  a  Babylon,  a  world,  a 
chaos.  Beautiful  ?  wonderfully  beautiful.  Ugly  ? — It  is  horri- 
ble ! — Did  you  like  it  ?  madly.  Would  you  live  in  it  ?  How 
can  I  tell ! — who  could  say  that  he  would  willingly  live  in 
another  planet  ?  You  go  back  to  your  inn,  full  of  enthusiasm, 
and  disgust ;  bewildered,  delighted,  and  with  your  head  whirl- 
ing, as  if  cerebral  congestion  had  begun,  and  your  agitation 
gradually  quiets  down  into  a  profound  prostration  and  mortal 
tedium.  You  have  lived  through  several  years  in  a  few  hours — 
and  feel  old  and  exhausted. 


THE  BRIDGE.  2$ 


THE   BRIDGE. 

To  see  the  population  of  Constantinople,  it  is  well  to  go 
upon  the  floating  bridge,  about  one-quarter  of  a  mile  in  length, 
which  extends  from  the  most  advanced  point  of  Galata  to  the 
opposite  shore  of  the  Golden  Horn,  facing  the  great  mosque 
of  the  Sultana  Valide.  Both  shores  are  European  territory ; 
but  the  bridge  may  be  said  to  connect  Asia  to  Europe  because 
in  Stamboul  there  is  nothing  European  save  the  ground,  and 
even  the  Christian  suburbs  that  crown  it  are  of  Asiatic  char- 
acter and  color.  The  Golden  Horn,  which  has  the  look  of  a 
river,  separates  two  worlds,  like  the  ocean. 

The  news  of  events  in  Europe  which  circulates  in  Galata 
and  Pera  clearly  and  minutely,  and  much  discussed,  arrives  on 
the  other  shore  confused  and  garbled,  like  a  distant  echo ; 
the  fame  of  great  men  and  great  things  in  the  west  are  stopped 
by  that  narrow  water  as  by  an  inseparable  barrier ;  and  over 
that  bridge,  where  every  day  a  hundred  thousand  people  pass, 
not  one  idea  passes  in  ten  years. 

Standing  there,  one  can  see  all  Constantinople  go  by  in  an 
hour.  There  are  two  exhaustless  currents  of  human  beings 
that  meet  and  mingle  forever  from  the  rising  of  the  sun  until 
his  setting,  presenting  a  spectacle  before  which  the  market- 
places of  India,  the  fair  of  Nijui-Novgorod,  and  the  festivals  of 
Pekin  grow  pale.     To  see  anything  at  all,  one  must  choose  a 


24  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

small  portion  of  the  bridge  and  fix  his  eyes  on  that  alone,  other- 
wise in  the  attempt  to  see  all,  one  sees  nothing.  The  crowd 
passes  in  great  waves,  each  one  of  which  is  of  a  hundred  colors, 
and  every  group  of  persons  represent  a  new  type  of  people. 
Whatever  can  be  imagined  that  is  most  extravagant  in  type, 
costume,  and  social  class  may  there  be  seen  within  the  space  of 
twenty  paces  and  ten  minutes  of  time.  Behind  a  throng  of 
Turkish  porters  who  pass  running,  and  bending  under  enormous 
burdens,  advances  a  sedan-chair,  inlaid  with  ivory  and  mother 
of  pearl,  and  bearing  an  Armenian  lady  ;  and  at  either  side  of 
it  a  Bedouin  wrapped  in  a  white  mantle  and  a  Turk  in  muslin 
turban  and  sky-blue  caftan,  beside  whom  canters  a  young 
Greek  gentleman  followed  by  his  dragoman  in  embroidered 
vest,  and  a  dervise  with  his  tall  conical  hat  and  tunic  of  camel's 
hair,  who  makes  way  for  the  carriage  of  a  European  ambassa- 
dor, preceded  by  his  running  footman*  in  gorgeous  livery.  All 
this  is  only  seen  in  a  glimpse,  and  the  next  moment  you  find 
yourself  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  Persians,  in  pyramidal  bon- 
nets of  Astrakan  fur,  who  are  followed  by  a  Hebrew  in  a  long 
yellow  coat,  open  at  the  sides  ;  a  frowzy-headed  gypsy  woman 
with  her  child  in  a  bag  at  her  back ;  a  Catholic  priest  with 
breviary  staff;  while  in  the  midst  of  a  confused  throng  of 
Greeks,  Turks,  and  Armenians  comes  a  big  eunuch  on  horse- 
back, crying  out,  Larya  I  (make  way !)  and  preceding  a 
Turkish  carriage,  painted  with  flowers  and  birds,  and  filled  with 
the  ladies  of  a  harem,  dressed  in  green  and  violet,  and  wrapped 
in  large  white  veils ;  behind  a  Sister  of  Charity  from  the  hos- 
pital at  Pera,  an  African  slave  carrying  a  monkey,  and  a  pro- 

*  Batistrada. 


THE  BRIDGE.  2$ 

fessional  story-teller  in  a  necromancer's  habit,  and  what  is  quite 
natural,  but  appears  strange  to  the  new  comer,  all  these  diverse 
people  pass  each  other  without  a  look,  like  a  crowd  in  London  ; 
and  not  one  single  countenance  wears  a  smile.  The  Albanian 
in  his  white  petticoat  and  with  pistols  in  his  sash,  beside  the 
Tartar  dressed  in  sheepskins  ;  the  Turk,  astride  of  his  capar- 
isoned ass,  threads  pompously  two  long  strings  of  camels; 
behind  the  adjutant  of  an  imperial  prince,  mounted  upon  his 
Arab  steed,  clatters  a  cart  filled  with  all  the  odd  domestic  rub- 
bish of  a  Turkish  household  ;  the  Mahometan  woman  a-foot, 
the  veiled  slave  woman,  the  Greek  with  her  red  cap,  and  her 
hair  on  her  shoulders,  the  Maltese  hooded  in  her  black  faldetta, 
the  Hebrew  woman  dressed  in  the  antique  costume  of  India, 
the  negress  wrapped  in  a  many-colored  shawl  from  Cairo,  the 
Armenian  from  Trebizond,  all  veiled  in  black  like  a  funeral 
apparition,  are  seen  in  single  file,  as  if  placed  there  on  purpose, 
to  be  contrasted  with  each  other. 

It  is  a  changing  mosaic  of  races  and  religions  that  is  com- 
posed and  scattered  continually  with  a  rapidity  that  the  eye 
can  scarcely  follow.  It  is  amusing  to  look  only  at  the  passing 
feet  and  see  all  the  foot-coverings  in  the  world  go  by,  from 
that  of  Adam  up  to  the  last  fashion  in  Parisian  boots — yellow 
Turkish  babouches,  red  Armenian,  blue  Greek  and  black  Jew- 
ish shoes ;  sandals,  great  boots  from  Turkestan,  Albanian 
gaiters,  low  cut  slippers,  leg-pieces  of  many  colors,  belonging 
to  horsemen  from  Asia  Minor,  gold  embroidered  shoes, 
Spanish  afyorgatos,  shoes  of  satin,  of  twine,  of  rags,  of  wood,  so 
many,  that  while  you  look  at  one  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  a 
hundred  more.  One  must  be  on  the  alert  not  to  be  jostled' 
2 


26  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

and  overthrown  at  every  step.  Now  it  is  a  water-carrier  with  a 
colored  jar  upon  his  back;  now  a  Russian  lady  on  horseback, 
now  a  squad  of  Imperial  soldiers  in  zouave  dress,  and  step- 
ping as  if  to  an  assault ;  now  a  crew  of  Armenian  porters,  two 
and  two,  carrying  on  their  shoulders  immense  bars,  from  which 
are  suspended  great  bales  of  merchandise  ;  and  now  a  throng 
of  Turks  who  dart  from  left  to  right  of  the  bridge  to  embark  in 
the  steamers  that  lie  there.  There  is  a  tread  of  many  feet,  a 
murmuring,  a  sound  of  voices,  guttural  notes,  aspirations  inter- 
jectional,  incomprehensible  and  strange,  among  which  the  few 
French  or  Italian  words  that  reach  the  ear  seem  like  luminous 
points  upon  a  black  darkness.  The  figures  that  most  attract 
the  eye  in  all  this  crowd  are  the  Circassians,  who  go  in  groups 
of  three  and  five  together,  with  slow  steps ;  big  bearded  men 
of  a  terrible  countenance,  wearing  bear-skin  caps  like  the  old 
Napoleonic  Guard,  long  black  caftans,  daggers  at  their  girdles, 
and  silver  cartridge-boxes  on  their  breasts  ;  real  figures  of  ban- 
ditti, who  look  as  if  they  had  come  to  Constantinople  to  sell  a 
daughter  or  a  sister — with  their  hands  embrued  in  Russian 
blood.  Then  the  Syrians,  with  robes  in  the  form  of  Byzantine 
dalmatie,  and  their  heads  enveloped  in  gold-striped  handker- 
chiefs ;  Bulgarians,  dressed  in  coarse  serge,  and  caps  encircled 
with  fur ;  Georgians  in  hats  of  varnished  leather,  their  tunics 
bound  round  the  waist  with  metal  girdles ;  Greeks  from  the 
Archipelago,  covered  from  head  to  foot  with  embroidery,  tas- 
sels and  shining  buttons. 

From  time  to  time  the  crowd  slackens  a  little ;  but  in- 
stantly other  groups  advance,  waving  with  red  caps  and  white 
turbans,  amid  which  the  cylindrical  hats,  umbrellas  and  pyra- 


THE  BRIDGE.  27 

midal  head-dresses  of  Europeans,  male  and  female,  seem  to  float 
borne  onward  by  that  Mussulman  torrent.  It  is  amazing  even 
to  note  the  variety  of  religions. 

The  shining  bald  head  of  the  Capuchin  friar,  the  towering 
janissary  turban  of  an  Ulema,  alternate  with  the  black  veil  of 
an  Armenian  priest,  Iraaums  with  white  tunics,  veiled  nuns, 
chaplains  of  the  Turkish  army,  dressed  in  green,  with  sabres  at 
their  side,  Dominican  friars,  pilgrims  returned  from  Mecca  with 
a  talisman  hanging  at  their  necks,  Jesuits,  Dervises,  and  this  is 
very  strange,  Dervises  that  tear  their  own  flesh  in  expiation  of 
their  sins,  and  cross  the  bridge  under  a  sun-umbrella,  all  pass 
by.  If  you  are  attentive,  you  may  notice  in  the  throng,  a  thou- 
sand amusing  incidents.  Here  it  is  a  eunuch,  showing  the 
white  of  his  eye  at  a  Christian  exquisite,  who  has  glanced  too 
curiously  into  the  carriage  of  his  mistress  j  there  is  a  French 
cocotte,  dressed  after  the  last  fashion  plate,  leading  by  the  hand 
the  begloved  and  bejewelled  son  of  a  pacha  j  or  a  lady  of 
Stamboul,  feigning  to  adjust  her  veil  that  she  may  peer  more 
easily  at  the  train  of  a  lady  of  Pera ;  or  a  sergeant  of  cavalry 
in  full  uniform,  stopping  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge  to  blow  his 
nose  with  his  fingers  in  a  way  to  give  one  a  cold  chill ;  or  a 
quack,  taking  his  last  sous  from  some  poor  devil,  and  making  a 
cabalistic  gesture  over  his  face,  to  cure  him  of  sore  eyes  ;  or  a 
family  of  travellers  arrived  that  day,  and  lost  in  the  midst  of  a 
throng  of  Asiatic  ruffians,  while  the  mother  searches  for  her 
crying  children,  and  the  men  make  way  for  them  by  dint  of 
squaring  their  shoulders.  Camels,  horses,  sedan-chairs,  oxen, 
carts,  casks  on  wheels,  bleeding  donkeys,  mangy  dogs,  form  a 
Ions:  file  that  divides  the  crowd  in  half. 


28  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Sometimes  there  passes  a  mighty  pasha  with  three  tails, 
lounging  in  a  splendid  carriage  followed  by  his  pipe-bearer  on 
foot,  his  guard  and  one  black  slave,  and  then  all  the  Turks 
salute,  touching  the  forehead  and  breast,  and  the  mendicant 
women,  horrible  witches,  with  muffled  faces  and  naked  breasts, 
run  after  the  carriage  crying  for  charity.  Eunuchs  not  on  service 
pass  in  twos  and  threes  and  fives  together,  cigarette  in  mouth  ; 
and  are  recognized  by  their  corpulence,  their  long  arms,  and 
their  black  habits.  Little  Turkish  girls  dressed  like  boys,  in 
green  full  trousers  and  rose  or  yellow  vests,  run  and  jump  with 
feline  agility,  making  way  for  themselves  with  their  henna- 
tinted  hands.  Boot-blacks  with  gilded  boxes,  barbers  with 
bench  and  basin  in  hand,  sellers  of  water  and  sweetmeats  cleave 
the  press  in  every  direction,  screaming  in  Greek  and  Turkish. 
At  every  step  comes  glittering  a  military  division,  officers  in 
fez  and  scarlet  trousers,  their  breasts  constellated  with  medals  ; 
grooms  from  the  Seraglio,  looking  like  generals  of  the  army, 
gendarmes,  with  a  whole  arsenal  at  their  belts  ;  zeibecks,  or 
free  soldiers,  with  those  enormous  baggy  trousers,  that  make 
them  resemble  in  profile,  the  Hottentot  Venus  ;  imperial  guards 
with  long  white  plumes  upon  their  casques  and  gold-bedizened 
breasts  ;  city  guards  of  Constantinople  ;  guards  as  one  might 
say,  required  to  keep  back  the  waves  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
The  contrasts  between  all  this  gold  and  all  those  rags,  between 
people  loaded  down  with  garments,  looking  like  walking  bazaars, 
and  people  almost  naked,  are  most  extraordinary.  The  spec- 
tacle of  so  much  nudity  is  alone  a  wonder.  Here  are  to  be 
seen  all  shades  of  skin-colors,  from  the  milky  whiteness  of 
Albania,  to  the   crow   blackness   of    Central  Africa   and   the 


THE  BRIDGE.  2g 

bluish-blackness  of  Darfur ;  chests  that  if  you  struck  upon 
them,  would  resound  like  a  huge  bass,  or  rattle  like  pot- 
tery ;  backs,  oily,  stony,  full  of  wrinkles,  and  hairy  like  the 
back  of  a  wild  boar ;  arms,  embossed  with  red  and  blue,  and 
decorated  with  designs  of  flowers  and  inscriptions  from  the 
Koran.  But  it  is  not  possible  to  observe  all  this  in  one's  first 
passage  over  the  bridge.  While  you  are  examining  the  tattoo 
on  an  arm,  your  guide  warns  you  that  a  Wallachian,  a  Servian, 
a  Montenegrin,  a  Cossack  of  the  Don,  a  Cossack  of  Ukraine, 
an  Egyptian,  a  native  of  Tunis,  a  prince  of  Imerezia  is  passing 
by.  It  seems  that  Constantinople  is  the  same  as  it  always 
was  ;  the  capital  of  three  continents,  and  the  queen  of  twenty 
vice  realms.  But  even  this  idea  is  insufficient  to  account  for 
the  spectacle,  and  one  fancies  a  tide  of  emigration,  produced 
by  some  enormous  cataclysm,  that  has  overturned  the  antique 
continent. 

An  experienced  eye  discerns  still  among  the  waves  of  that 
great  sea,  the  faces  and  costumes  of  Caramania  and  Anatolia, 
of  Cyprus  and  Candia,  of  Damascus  and  Jerusalem,  the 
Druse,  the  Kurd,  the  Maronite,  the  Croat,  and  others,  innu- 
merable varieties  of  all  the  anarchical  confederations  which  ex- 
tend from  the  Nile  to  the  Danube,  and  from  the  Euphrates  to 
the  Adriatic.  Seekers  after  the  beautiful  or  the  horrible  will 
here  find  their  most  audacious  desires  fulfilled  ;  Raphael  would 
be  in  ecstacies,  and  Rembrandt  would  tear  his  hair.  The 
purest  types  of  Greek  and  Caucasian  beauty  are  mingled  with 
flat  noses  and  woolly  heads  ;  queens  and  fairies  pass  beside 
you ;  lovely  faces,  and  faces  deformed  by  disease  and  wounds  ; 
monstrous  feet,  and  tiny  Circassian  feet  no  longer  than  your 


30  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

hand,  gigantic  porters,  enormously  corpulent  Turks,  and  black 
sticks  of  skeleton  shadows  of  men  that  fill  you  with  pity  and 
disgust ;  every  strangest  aspect  in  which  can  be  presented  the 
ascetic  life,  the  abuse  of  pleasure,  extreme  fatigue,  the  excess 
of  opulence,  and  the  misery  that  kills.  Who  loves  colors  may 
here  have  his  fill.  No  two  figures  are  dressed  alike.  Here 
are  shawls  twisted  around  the  head,  savage  fillets,  coronets  of 
rags,  skirts  and  under-vests  in  stripes  and  squares  like  harle- 
quins, girdles  stuck  full  of  knives  that  reach  to  the  arm-pits, 
Mameluke  trousers,  short  drawers;  skirts,  togas,  trailing  sheets, 
coats  trimmed  with  ermine,  vests  like  golden  cuirasses,  sleeves 
puffed  and  slashed,  habits  monkish  and  habits  covered  with 
gold  lace,  men  dressed  like  women,  and  women  that  look  like 
men ;  beggars  with  the  port  of  princes,  a  ragged  elegance,  a 
profusion  of  colors,  of  fringes,  tags,  and  fluttering  ends  of  child- 
ish and  theatrical  decorations,  that  remind  one  of  a  masquerade 
in  a  mad -house,  for  which  all  the  old-clothes  dealers  in  the 
universe  have  emptied  their  stores.  Above  the  hollow  murmur 
that  comes  from  this  multitude,  are  heard  the  shrill  cries  of  the 
sellers  of  newspapers  in  every  tongue  ;  the  stentorian  shout  of 
the  porters,  the  giggling  laugh  of  Turkish  women,  the  squeak- 
ing voices  of  eunuchs,  the  falsetto  trill  of  blind  men  chanting 
verses  of  the  Koran,  the  noise  of  the  bridge  as  it  moves  upon 
the  water,  the  whistles  and  bells  of  a  hundred  steamers,  whose 
dense  smoke  is  often  beaten  down  by  the  wind  so  that  you  can 
see  nothing  at  all.  All  this  masquerade  of  people  embarks  in 
the  small  steamboats  that  leave  every  moment  for  Scutari,  for 
the  villages  on  the  Bosphorus,  and  the  suburbs  of  the  Golden 
Horn ;  they  spread  through  Stamboul,  in  the  bazaars,  in  the 


THE  BRIDGE.  3  I 

mosques,  in  the  suburbs  of  Fanar  and  Balata,  to  the  most  dis- 
tant quarters  on  the  Sea  of  Marmora ;  they  swarm  upon  the 
Frankish  shore,  to  the  right  towards  the  sultan's  palace,  to  the 
left,  towards  the  higher  quarters  of  Pera,  from  whence  they 
fall  again  upon  the  bridge  by  the  innumerable  lanes  that  wind 
about  the  sides  of  the  hills  ;  and  thus  they  bind  together  Asia 
and  Europe,  ten  cities  and  a  hundred  suburbs,  in  one  mighty 
net  of  labor,  intrigue  and  mystery,  before  which  the  mind  be- 
comes bewildered.  It  would  seem  that  the  spectacle  should 
be  a  pleasing  one  ;  but  it  is  not  so.  The  first  amazement  over, 
the  festive  colors  fade ;  it  is  no  longer  a  grand  carnival  pro- 
cession that  is  passing;  it  is  humanity  itself  filing  by  with  all 
its  miseries  and  follies,  with  all  the  infinite  discord  of  its  beliefs, 
and  its  laws ;  it  is  a  pilgrimage  of  a  debased  people  and  a  fallen 
race ;  an  immensity  of  suffering  to  be  helped,  of  shame  to  be 
washed  out,  of  chains  to  be  broken ;  an  accumulation  of  tre- 
mendous problems  written  in  characters  of  blood,  which  can 
only  be  solved  by  torrents  of  blood  ;  and  it  is  all  horribly  sad. 
And  then  the  sense  of  curiosity  is  rather  blunted  than  satisfied 
by  this  endless  variety  of  strange  objects.  What  extraordinary 
evolutions  occur  in  the  human  soul !  A  quarter  of  an  hour  had 
not  passed  after  my  arrival  on  the  bridge  when  I  was  abstract- 
edly drawing  arabesques  with  my  pencil  upon  a  beam  and 
thinking  to  myself  between  two  yawns,  that  there  was  some 
truth  in  Madame  de  Stael's  famous  sentence — "  travelling  is  the 
most  melancholy  of  amusements." 


32  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


STAMBOUL. 

To  recover  from  this  condition  of  amazement,  one  has  only 
•to  dive  into  one  of  the  thousand  alleys  that  wind  about  the 
flanks  of  the  hills  of  Stamboul.  Here  there  reigns  profound 
peace,  and  here  can  be  contemplated  in  tranquillity  every  aspect 
of  that  mysterious  and  jealous  East,  which  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Golden  Horn  is  only  seen  in  fugitive  glimpses,  amidst  the 
noisy  confusion  of  European  life.  Here  everything  is  strictly 
Oriental.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  ramble,  you  have  seen 
no  one,  and  heard  not  a  sound.  The  houses  on  either  side 
are  all  of  wood,  painted  in  different  colors,  their  upper  stories 
projecting  over  the  lower ;  and  the  windows  protected  in  front 
by  a  sort  of  grated  gallery,  and  closed  by  small  wooden  lat- 
tices, giving  to  the  street  a  singular  aspect  of  mystery  and 
gloom.  In  some  places  the  streets  are  so  narrow  that  the 
projecting  parts  of  opposite  houses  almost  touch  each  other, 
and  you  may  walk  for  a  long  distance  under  the  shadow  of 
these  human  cages,  and  under  the  very  feet  of  the  Turkish 
women,  who  pass  the  greater  part  of  the  day  seeing  only  one 
thin  strip  of  sky.  The  doors  are  all  closed,  the  windows  o( 
the  ground  floor  grated  ;  everything  betrays  jealousy  and  sus- 
picion ;  it  is  like  going  through  a  city  of  monasteries.  Sud- 
denly you  hear  a  laugh,  and  raising  your  eyes,  catch  a  glimpse 
through  some  small  aperture,  of  a  tress  of  hair  and  a  sparkling 


STAMBOUL.  33 

eye  that  instantly  disappear.  Here  and  there  you  may  sur- 
prise a  lively,  low-voiced  conversation  going  on  across  the 
street,  but  it  ceases  at  once,  at  the  noise  of  footsteps.  Who 
knows  what  network  of  gossip  and  intrigue  you  may  have 
momentarily  disturbed.  You  see  no  one,  but  a  thousand  eyes 
see  you  ;  you  are  alone,  but  you  feel  as  if  you  were  surrounded 
by  a  crowd  ;  and  involuntarily  you  lighten  your  step,  and  cast 
down  your  eyes,  as  if  wishing  to  pass  unobserved.  An  opening 
door  or  the  sound  of  a  closing  lattice,  startles  you  lilce  a  loud 
noise.  The  street  seems  to  promise  nothing  of  amusing  or 
interesting ;  but  in  a  moment  you  see  a  green  grove  with  a 
white  minaret  darting  from  the  midst  of  it  j  a  Turk  dressed  in 
red  coming  toward  you ;  a  black  woman  slave  standing  in  a 
door-way ;  a  Persian  carpet  hanging  from  a  window,  and  each 
forms  a  picture  so  full  of  life  and  harmony,  that  you  could  look 
at  it  for  an  hour.  Of  the  few  people  who  pass  you  by,  not  one 
looks  at  you.  Only  now  and  then  a  voice  at  your  shoulder  calls 
out — giaour  !  (infidel) — and  turning,  you  see  a  boy  just  disap- 
pearing round  a  corner.  Sometimes  you  see  the  door  of  a 
house  open,  and  you  stop  short,  expecting  to  behold  some 
beauty  of  the  harem,  when  out  trips  an  European  lady  in  full 
Russian  costume,  who  with  a  murmured  adieu,  or  au  revoir, 
walks  quickly  away,  leaving  you  with  eyes  and  mouth  wide 
open.  In  another  street,  quite  Turkish  and  completely  silent, 
you  are  startled  by  the  sound  of  a  horn,  and  the  trampling  feet 
of  horses  ;  you  turn,  and  can  hardly  believe  your  eyes.  An  om- 
nibus of  large  dimensions,  rolling  forward  on  two  iron  rails, 
that  had  escaped  your  notice,  and  full  of  Turks  and  Franks, 
with  its  conductor  in  uniform,  and  its  placards  with  the  tariff 
2* 


34  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

like  a  tramway  of  Paris  or  New  York.  The  astounding  nature 
of  such  an  apparition  in  one  of  these  streets  is  not  one  to  be 
expressed  in  words  ;  it  seems- an  immense  joke,  and  you  look 
at  the  familiar  vehicle  as  if  you  had  never  seen  one  before. 
Some  of  these  solitary  streets  open  into  squares,  shaded  by  one 
great  plane  tree.  On  one  side  there  is  a  fountain,  where  camels 
are  drinking  ;  on  the  other  a  cafe,  with  a  row  of  mattresses 
before  the  door,  and  some  Turks  reclining,  smoking  ;  close  by, 
a  monstrous  fig-tree,  embraced  by  a  vine  whose  branches  bend 
nearly  to  the  ground,  showing  between  their  leaves,  the  distant 
azure  of  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  with  two  or  three  white  sails.  A 
glowing  white  light  and  a  mortal  silence  invest  these  places 
with  so  solemn  and  melancholy  a  character,  that  they  are  never 
to  be  forgotten,  though  seen  but  once.  Onward  you  go,  drawn 
as  by  some  hidden  charm  in  the  quiet,  which  enters  little  by 
little  into  the  soul,  and  steeps  it  in  dreamy  reverie,  and  after  a 
little  all  sense  of  time  and  distance  is  lost.  You  come  to  vast 
spaces  with  traces  of  a  recent  conflagration ;  declivities  with  a 
few  houses  scattered  here  and  there,  the  grass  growing  about 
them  and  great  paths  winding  among  them  ;  high  points,  from 
which  the  eye  embraces  streets,  alleys,  gardens,  hundreds  of 
houses,  and  nowhere  any  human  creature,  nor  smoke  arising, 
nor  open  door,  nor  the  least  trace  of  life ;  so  that  you  might 
fancy  yourself  alone  in  that  immense  city,  and  you  feel  a  shiver 
of  terror  at  the  thought.  But,  descend  the  slope,  arrive  at  the 
end  of  these  narrow  streets,  and  all  is  changed.  You  are  in 
one  of  the  great  thoroughfares  of  Stamboul,  flanked  by  monu- 
ments of  the  most  magnificent  character.  You  walk  in  the 
midst  of  mosques,  kiosks,  minarets,  arched  galleries,  fountains  in 


STAMBOUL.  35 

marble  and  lapis-lazuli,  mausoleums  of  departed  sultans,  re- 
splendent with  arabesques  and  gold  inscriptions,  walls  covered 
with  mosaics  ;  under  roofs  of  carved  cedar  wood,  in  the  shadow 
of  a  luxuriant  vegetation,  that  overtops  the  walls  and  gilded 
railings  of  the  gardens,  and  fills  the  air  with  perfume.  At 
every  step  you  meet  the  carriages  of  pashas,  officers,  aid-de- 
camps, eunuchs  of  great  houses,  a  procession  of  servants  and 
parasites  that  comes  and  goes  between  the  different  ministries. 
Here  you  recognize  the  metropolis  of  a  great  empire  in  all  its 
magnificence  and  power.  There  is  a  grace  of  architecture,  a 
murmur  of  water,  a  freshness  of  shade,  which  caress  the  senses 
like  soft  music,  and  fill  the  mind  with  smiling  images.  By 
these  streets  shall  ycu  reach  the  great  squares  where  the  Imperial 
mosques  are  situated,  and  you  stand  amazed  before  them. 
Each  one  of  these  forms,  as  it  were,  the  nucleus  of  a  small 
city  of  colleges,  hospitals,  schools,  libraries,  shops,  baths,  that 
almost  pass  unnoticed,  shadowed  as  they  are  by  the  enormous 
dome  that  overtops  them. 

The  architecture,  which  you  had  imagined  to  be  very  simple, 
presents  instead  an  extraordinary  variety  of  detail  that  attracts 
the  eye  on  every  side.  Here  are  domes  covered  with  lead, 
strangely  formed  roofs  that  rise  one  above  the  other,  aerial  gal- 
leries, enormous  porticoes,  windows  with  columns,  arches  with 
festoons,  fluted  minarets,  surrounded  by  small  terraces  in  open 
work,  like  lace ;  monumental  doors  and  fountains  covered  with 
embroidery  in  stone ;  walls  spangled  with  gold,  and  of  a  thou- 
sand colors  ;  the  whole  chiselled,  and  worked  in  the  boldest  and 
lightest  manner,  and  shaded  by  oak  trees,  cypresses  and  willows, 
from  which  come  flocks  of  birds  that  circle  in  slow  flight  around 


2,6  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

the  domes,  and  fill  with  music  all  the  recesses  of  those  immense 
buildings.  One  is  conscious  of  a  feeling  stronger  and  deeper 
than  that  of  mere  curiosity.  Those  monuments  that  are  as  it 
were  a  colossal  marble  affirmation  of  an  order  of  sentiments 
and  ideas  diverse  from  those  in  which  we  have  been  born  and 
grow,  the  skeleton  of  a  race  and  faith  hostile  to  our  own,  which 
tell  us  in  mute  language  of  superb  lines  and  daring  heights,  the 
glories  of  a  God  who  is  not  ours,  and  of  a  people  before  whom 
our  ancestors  trembled,  inspire  a  respect  mingled  with  awe  that 
overcomes  curiosity  and  holds  it  at  a  distance. 

Within,  under  the  shadow  of  the  colonnades  are  a  few  Turks 
making  their  ablutions  at  the  fountains,  beggars  crouching  at 
the  bases  of  columns,  veiled  women  gliding  slowly  under  the 
arches  ;  a  solemn  silence  reigns,  and  the  mind  is  conscious  of 
a  sort  of  voluptuous  melancholy,  that  both  attracts  and  puzzles 
the  understanding.  Galata  and  Pera  seem  very  far  away. 
You  are  alone  in  another  world,  in  an  olden  time,  in  the  Stam- 
boul  of  Soliman  the  Great  and  Bajazet  the  Second,  and  when 
emerging  from  among  these  stupendous  works  of  the  Osmanlee, 
you  stand  in  that  other  Constantinople,  meanly  built  of  wood, 
falling  into  decay,  full  of  filth,  misery,  and  squalor,  you  feel  be- 
wildered, as  if  awaking  from  a  splendid  dream.  As  you  ad- 
vance, the  houses  become  colorless,  and  the  lattices  are  drop- 
ping to  pieces,  the  basins  of  the  fountains  covered  with  slime 
and  refuse  ;  dwarfish  mosques  with  cracked  walls  and  wooden 
minarets,  stand  in  the  midst  of  weeds  and  nettles  ;  ruined  mau- 
soleums, broken  steps,  passages  choked  with  stones  and  rub- 
bish, whole  quarters  fallen  into  a  dreary  decrepitude,  where  no 
sound  is  heard,  save  the  flutter  of  a  stork  or  falcon,  or  the  gut- 


STAMBOUL.  37 

tural  cry  of  the  muezzin,  as  he  chants  the  word  of  God  from  the 
top  of  some  hidden  minaret. 

No  city  represents  the  nature  and  philosophy  of  the  people 
better  than  Stamboul.  All  grand  and  beautiful  things  are  of 
God,  or  of  the  sultan,  image  of  God  upon  earth  ;  every  thing 
else  is  transitory  and  is  unregarded,  being  a  mere  mundane 
thing.  The  pastoral  tribe  has  become  a  nation  ;  but  its  instinc- 
tive love  for  rural  nature,  for  contemplation  and  indolence,  has 
preserved  to  its  metropolis  the  aspect  of  an  encampment. 
Stamboul  is  not  a  city ;  she  neither  labors,  nor  thinks,  nor 
creates  ;  civilization  beats  at  her  gates  and  assaults  her  in  her 
streets ;  she  dreams  and  slumbers  in  the  shadow  of  her 
mosques,  and  takes  no  heed.  It  is  a  city  unbound,  scattered, 
deformed,  that  rather  represents  the  resting  place  of  a  pilgrim 
race  than  the  power  of  a  founded  state  ;  an  immense  sketch 
of  a  metropolis  ;  a  great  spectacle,  but  not  a  great  city.  And 
it  is  not  possible  to  conceive  any  just  idea  of  it.  One  must 
start  from  the  first  hill,  that  which  forms  the  point  of  the  tri- 
angle, and  is  bathed  by  the  Sea  of  Marmora.  Here  is  what 
may  be  called  the  head  of  Stamboul  ;  a  monumental  quarter, 
full  of  memories,  of  splendor,  and  of  light.  Here  are  the  old 
Seraglio,  where  Byzantium  first  rose  with  her  Acropolis,  and  the 
temple  of  Jove,  and  the  palace  of  the  Empress  Placidia,  and  the 
baths  of  Arcadio  ;  here  are  the  mosques  of  Saint  Sophia 
and  the  Sultan  Ahmed,  and  the  At-Meidan  which  occupies  the 
site  of  the  ancient  Hippodrome,  where  upon  an  Olympus  of 
bronze  and  marble,  and  amid  the  shouts  of  a  crowd,  robed  in 
silk  and  purple,  flew  the  golden  chariots  before  the  eyes 
of  the    Emperors,  glittering  with  jewels.     From  this  hill  you 


38  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

descend  into  a  valley  not  very  deep,  where  extend  the  western 
walls  of  the  Seraglio,  marking  the  confines  of  ancient  Byzantium, 
and  here  is  the  Sublime  Porte,  by  which  you  enter  the  palace  of 
the  Grand  Vizier  and  the  Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs  ;  an  austere 
and  silent  quarter  in  which  seems  gathered  all  the  sadness  of  the 
empire's  fate.  You  ascend  a  second  hill,  upon  which  stands 
the  marble  mosque  of  Miri-Osmanie, — Light  of  Osman, — and 
the  burned  column  of  Constantine,  that  once  sustained  a  bronze 
figure  of  Apollo  with  the  head  of  the  emperor,  and  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  ancient  Forum,  surrounded  by  porticoes,  triumphal 
arches,  and  statues.  Beyond  this  hill  opens  the  valley  of  the 
bazaars,  which  extends  from  the  mosque  of  Bajazet  to  that  of 
the  Sultana  Valide,  and  contains  an  immense  labyrinth  of  cov- 
ered streets  or  arcades,  full  of  noise  and  people,  from  which 
you  emerge  with  dimmed  eyes  and  buzzing  ears.  On  the 
third  hill,  which  dominates  both  the  Sea  of  Marmora  and  the 
Golden  Horn,  rises  the  gigantic  mosque  of  Soliman,  the  rival 
of  Saint  Sophia — "joy  and  splendor  of  Stamboul,"  as  the  Turk- 
ish poets  say,  and  the  wondrous  tower  of  the  Ministry  of  War, 
which  stands  upon  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  palace  of  Constan- 
tine, sometime  inhabited  by  Mahomet  the  Victorious,  then 
converted  into  a  Seraglio  for  the  old  Sultanas.  From  the 
third  to  the  fourth  height  extends  like  an  aerial  bridge  the 
enormous  aqueduct  of  the  Emperor  Valentinian,  formed  of  rows 
of  light  arches,  and  garlanded  with  green,  its  pendent  vines  and 
creeping  plants  waving  above  the  houses  in  the  populous  valley. 
Passing  under  the  aqueduct,  you  mount  the  fourth  hill. 

Here,  upon  the  ruins  of  the  famous  church  of  the   Holy 
Apostles,  founded   by  the   Empress   Helena,  and   rebuilt  by 


STAMBOUL.  39 

Theodora,  stands  the  mosque  of  Mahomet  the  Second,  sur- 
rounded by  hospitals,  schools,  and  caravanserais;  beside  the 
mosque,  are  the  slave  bazaars,  the  baths  of  Mahomet,  and  the 
granite  column  of  Marcius,  still  bearing  its  marble  cippus,  with 
the  imperial  eagles  ;  and  near  the  column,  the  place  where  the 
famous  massacre  of  the  Janissaries  was  accomplished,  then 
called  the  place  of  the  Et-Meidan.  Upon  the  fifth  hill  is  the 
mosque  of  Selim,  near  the  ancient  well  of  St.  Peter,  now  con- 
verted into  a  garden.  Below,  along  the  Golden  Horn,  extends 
the  Fanar,  or  Greek  quarter,  the  seat  of  the  patriarchate,  where 
antique  Byzantium  took  refuge,  with  the  descendants  of  the 
Paleologlii  and  the  Comneni,  and  where  the  horrid  massacres 
of  182 1  took  place.  Upon  the  sixth  hill  is  the  land  that  was 
occupied  by  the  eight  cohorts  of  the  forty  thousand  Goths  of 
Constantine,  outside  the  circuit  of  the  first  walls,  which  only 
embraced  the  fourth  hill ;  the  space  occupied  by  the  seventh 
cohort  still  bears  the  name  of  Hebdomon.  Here  also  remain 
the  walls  of  the  palace  of  Constantine  Porfirogenitus,  where  the 
emperors  were  crowned,  now  called  by  the  Turks  Tekir  Serai, 
or  Palace  of  the  Princes.  At  the  foot  of  the  sixth  hill  lies 
Balata,  the  Jews'  quarter,  a  filthy  place,  running  along  the 
shore  of  the  Golden  Horn  as  far  as  the  walls  of  the  city,  and 
beyond  Balata,  the  ancient  suburb  of  Blacherne,  once  orna- 
mented by  palaces  with  gilded  roofs,  the  favorite  residences  of 
the  emperors,  famous  for  the  great  church  of  the  Empress 
Pulcheria,  and  for  its  sanctuary  of  relics ;  now  full  of  ruins  and 
sadness.  At  Blacherne  begins  the  battlemented  wall  that 
runs  from  the  Golden  Horn  to  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  encircling 
the   seventh   hill,  where   was   once   the   Forum-Boarium,  and 


40  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

where  still  lies  the  pedestal  of  the  column  of  Arcadio ;  the  most 
oriental  and  the  grandest  of  the  hills  of  Stamboul,  between 
which  and  the  other  six,  flows  the  little  river  Lykus,  that  enters 
the  city  near  the  Carisio  gate,  and  throws  itself  into  the  sea 
not  far  from  the  ancient  gate  of  Theodosius.  From  the  walls 
of  Blacherne  can  be  seen  the  suburb  of  Ortaksiler,  descending 
gently  towards  the  sea  and  crowned  with  gardens ;  beyond 
Ortaksiler,  the  suburb  of  Eyub,  the  holy  ground  of  the  Os- 
manlee,  with  its  pretty  mosque,  and  its  vast  cemetery  white  with 
tombs  and  mausoleums,  and  shaded  by  a  grove  pf  cypresses  ;  be- 
hind Eyub  is  the  high  plain  of  the  ancient  military  camp,  where 
the  legions  raised  the  new  emperors  upon  their  shields ;  and 
beyond  the  high  plain,  other  villages,  whose  vivid  colors  sparkle 
amid  the  verdure  of  groves  bathed  by  the  last  waters  of  the 
Golden  Horn.  Such  is  Stamboul.  It  is  divine  ;  but  the  heart 
swells  at  the  thought  that  this  interminable  Asiatic  village 
stands  upon  the  ruins  of  that  second  Rome,  that  immense 
museum  of  treasures  torn  from  Italy,  Greece,  Egypt,  and  Asia- 
Minor,  whose  record  fills  the  mind  like  some  heavenly  vision. 
Where  now  are  the  grand  porticoes  that  traversed  the  city  from 
the  sea  to  the  walls,  the  gilded  cupolas,  the  colossal  equestrian 
statues  that  rose  upon  Titanic  pedestals  in  front  of  amphithea- 
tres and  baths  ;  the  bronze  sphinxes  couched  upon  porphyry 
pedestals,  the  temples  and  palaces  that  reared  their  granite 
fronts  among  an  aerial  company  of  marble  gods  and  silver  em- 
perors ?  All  gone  and  transformed.  The  bronze  statues  have 
been  melted  into  cannon  ;  the  copper  sheathing  of  the  obelisks 
reduced  to  money ;  the  church  of  St.  Irene  is  an  arsenal,  the 
well  of  Constantine  an  office ;  the  pedestal  of  the  column  of 


STAMBOUL.  41 

Arcadio  a  blacksmith's  shop  ;  the  Hippodrome  a  horse-market ; 
ivy  and  rubbish  cover  the  foundations  of  the  imperial  city, 
church-yard  grasses  grow  upon  the  threshold  of  the  amphi- 
theatres, and  a  few  inscriptions  calcined  by  lire  and  mutilated 
by  the  scimetars  of  the  invaders,  record  that  upon  this  hill  once 
stood  the  wonderful  metropolis  of  the  Empire  of  the  East. 
Stamboul  sits  upon  the  ruins  like  an  odalisque  upon  a  tomb, 
awaiting  her  hour. 


42  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


AT  THE  INN. 

And  now  the  reader  will  follow  me  to  my  inn  and  take 
breath  for  a  while. 

A  great  part  of  that  which  I  have  described  was  seen  by  my 
friend  and  myself  on  the  day  of  our  arrival ;  let  the  reader  im- 
agine what  a  condition  our  heads  were  in  when  we  returned  to 
our  hotel  at  night.  In  the  street  we  had  not  exchanged  a  word, 
and  we  were  hardly  in  our  room  before  we  sank  upon  a  sofa, 
and  looking  each  other  in  the  face,  asked  at  the  same  moment 
and  in  one  voice  : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ? " 

"  And  to  think  that  I  came  here  to  paint !  " 

"And  I  to  write!" 

And  we  laughed  in  each  other's  faces  with  friendly  compas- 
sion. Indeed,  that  evening,  and  for  several  days  after,  his  ma- 
jesty Abdul-Aziz  might  have  offered  me  as  a  prize  a  whole 
province  of  Asia  Minor,  and  I  could  not  have  succeeded  in 
putting  together  ten  lines  about  the  capital  of  his  states,  so 
true  is  it  that,  to  describe  great  things  you  must  be  at  a  dis- 
tance from  them,  and  to  remember  well,  you  must  have  for- 
gotten a  little  first.  And  then  how  could  any  one  write  in  a 
room  from  which  he  could  see  the  Bosphorus,  Scutari,  and  the 
summit  of  Mount  Olympus  ?  The  hotel  itself  was  a  spectacle. 
Every  hour  in  the  day  the  staircases  and  corridors  swarmed 


AT   THE  INN.  43 

with  people  from  every  country.  Twenty  nationalities  sat  down 
every  day  at  the  table  de  hCte :  at  dinner,  I  could  not  get  it  out 
of  my  head  that  I  was  a  delegate  from  the  Italian  government, 
and  would  be  expected  to  get  upon  my  legs  as  soon  as  the 
fruit  was  on  the  table  to  discuss  some  great  international  ques- 
tion. There  were  blooming  faces  of  ladies,  wild  artist  heads, 
ill-favored  visages  of  not  to  be  mistaken  adventurers,  Byzantine 
virgins  who  only  lacked  the  golden  nimbus,  strange  and  sinister 
faces ;  and  every  day  they  changed.  When  everybody  talked 
at  once  at  dessert  it  was  a  veritable  tower  of  Babel.  From  the 
first  day  I  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  several  Russians  who 
were  infatuated  with  Constantinople.  Every  evening  we  met, 
returning  from  the  extremest  points  of  the  city,  and  each  of  us 
had  a  story  to  tell  of  his  travels  that  day.  One  had  climbed  to 
the  top  of  the  tower  of  Seraskierat,  another  had  visited  the 
cemetery  of  Eyub,  a  third  came  from  Scutari,  a  fourth  from  a 
sail  on  the  Bosphorus  ;  the  conversation  was  all  interwoven 
with  brilliant  bits  of  description  ;  and  when  words  were  want- 
ing, the  sweet  and  perfumed  wines  of  the  Archipelago  came  to 
our  aid  and  suggested  them.  There  were  also  some  of  my  own 
fellow-citizens,  dandy  critics,  who  caused  me  to  devour  much 
silent  wrath  at  the  way  in  which,  from  soup  to  fruit,  they  did 
nothing  but  say  evil  of  Constantinople  ;  there  were  no  side- 
walks, and  the  theatres  were  dark,  and  there  was  no  place  to 
pass  the  evening.  They  had  come  to  Constantinople  to  pass 
the  evening  !  One  of  them  had  made  the  journey  up  the  Dan- 
ube. I  asked  him  how  he  liked  the  great  river.  He  answered 
that  nowhere  in  the  world  did  they  cook  the  sturgeon  as  upon 
the  royal  and  imperial  Austrian  company's  steamers.     Another 


44  CONSTANTINOPLE.      - 

was  a  charming  type  of  the  travelling  amoroso ;  one  of  those 
who  travel  to  seduce  and  subjugate,  with  a  note-book  in  which 
he  jots  down  his  conquests.  He  was  a  long,  bland  youth,  who 
inclined  his  head  with  a  mysterious  smile  when  the  Turkish 
women  were  talked  of,  and  when  he  took  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion it  was  in  short  sentences,  broken  by  sips  of  wine.  He  ar- 
rived always  a  little  late  for  dinner,  and  seated  himself  with  the 
air  of  one  who  had  just  been  playing  the  Sultan,  and  between 
one  dish  and  another,  he  toyed  with  small  folded  notes,  that 
might  have  been  love  letters  from  the  ladies  of  the  harem,  but 
were  probably  hotel  bills.  There  was  a  young  Hungarian,  tall, 
nervous,  with  two  most  diabolical  looking  eyes,  and  a  hasty, 
feverish  way  of  talking,  who  after  having  been  secretary  to  a 
rich  gentleman  of  Paris,  had  enrolled  himself  among  the  Pon- 
tifical Zouaves  at  Algeria,  was  wounded  and  taken  prisoner  by 
the  Arabs,  escaped  from  Morocco,  and  returning  to  Europe, 
went  off  to  the  Hague  hoping  to  get  an  officers'  brevet  to  go 
and  fight  the  Achins ;  failing  at  the  Hague,  he  decided  to  enter 
the  Turkish  army;  but  passing  through  Vienna  on  his  return  to 
Constantinople,  got  a  pistol  ball  in  his  neck,  in  a  duel  about  a 
woman  (and  here  he  showed  the  scar) ;  rejected  also  at  Con- 
stantinople— "  What  am  I  to  do  ?"  he  said.  "I  am  the  child 
of  fortune  ;  I  must  fight  somewhere.  I  have  found  some  one 
who  will  take  me  to  India  ;"  and  here  he  showed  the  ticket  for 
his  voyage.  "  I  will  be  an  English  soldier ;  in  the  interior 
there  is  always  something  doing  ;  I  only  want  to  fight ;  what 
does  it  matter  whether  I  get  killed  or  not  ?  One  of  my  lungs  is 
gone  already." 

Another  original  was  a  Frenchman,  whose  whole  life  seemed 


AT   THE  INN  45 

to  pass  in  a  perpetual  war  against  the  postal  administrations. 
He  had  a  question  pending  with  the  Austrian,  French  and 
English  post-offices;  he  sent  protests  to  the  Neue  Freie Presse ; 
launched  telegraphic  impertinences  at  all  the  postal  stations  qn 
the  Continent,  had  every  day  a  dispute  at  some  post-office  win- 
dow, did  not  receive  a  letter  in  time,  or  wrote  one  that  did  not 
arrive  at  its  address,  and  related  all  his  misfortunes  and  all  his 
altercations  at  table,  always  concluding  with  the  assurance 
that  the  postal  service  had  shortened  his  life.  I  remember  also 
a  Greek  lady,  with  a  diabolical  countenance,  oddly  dressed,  and 
always  alone,  who  every  evening  rose  from  the  table  in  the 
middle  of  dinner  and  went  away,  after  having  made  a  cabalistic 
sign  over  the  plate  which  no  one  ever  succeeded  in  making 
out.  Nor  have  I  forgotten  a  Wallachian  couple,  a  handsome 
young  fellow  of  five  and  twenty,  and  a  girl  just  past  childhood, 
who  appeared  one  evening  only,  and  who  were  indubitably  fugi- 
tives ;  he  the  ravisher  and  she  the  accomplice;  for,  you  had 
only  to  fix  your  eye  upon  them  for  an  instant  to  see  both  blush 
crimson,  and  every  time  the  door  opened,  they  jumped  as  if  set 
on  springs.  There  were  a  hundred  others  whom  T  might  recall. 
It  was  a  magic  lantern.  My  friend  and  I,  on  the  days  of  the 
arrival  of  a  steamer,  amused  ourselves  watching  the  people  as 
they  came  in,  tired  and  bewildered,  some  of  them  still  excited 
by  the  spectacle  they  had  seen  on  entering  the  harbor,  and  an 
expression  on  their  faces  as  if  they  said — what  world  is  this  ? — 
Where  are  we  ?  One  day  there  arrived  a  young  lad  who  was 
quite  mad  with  the  delight  of  finding  himself  in  Constantinople, 
the  dream  of  his  childhood ;  and  he  held  his  father's  hand  in 
both  of  his,  while  the  father  said,  in  an  agitated  voice : — jfe 


46  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

suis  heureux  de  te  voir  heureux,  moti  cher  enfant*  We  passed 
the  hot  hours  of  the  day  at  our  window,  and  looked  at  the 
Tower  of  the  Maiden,  that  rises,  white  as  snow,  on  a  solitary 
rock  in  the  Bosphorus,  opposite  Scutari,  and  while  we  weave 
our  own  fancies  round  the  legend  of  the  Prince  of  Persia,  that 
sucked  the  aspic  poison  from  the  arm  of  the  beautiful  Sultana, 
every  day  at  the  same  hour  a  little  boy  in  the  opposite  house 
came  and  made  mouths  at  us.  Everything  was  strange  in  this 
hotel.  Among  other  things  we  encountered  every  evening  at  the 
entrance  door  two  or  three  equivocal  looking  figures,  who 
seemed  to  be  providers  of  models  for  painters,  and  who  appar- 
ently took  us  all  for  painters,  for  they  whispered  in  our  ears, 
mysteriously  : — "  A  Turk  ? — a  Greek  ? — ^an  Armenian  ? — a  Jew- 
ess ? — a  negress  ? " 

*  I  am  happy  to  see  you  happy,  my  dear  child. 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  47 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 

But  let  us  return  to  Constantinople,  and  rove  about  like  the 
birds  of  the  air.  Here  all  caprices  may  be  permitted.  We 
can  light  our  cigars  in  Europe,  and  drop  the  ashes  in  Asia. 
Rising  in  the  morning,  we  can  inquire — "What  part  of  the 
world  shall  I  visit  to-day  ? — There  is  choice  between  two  conti- 
nents and  two  seas.  We  have  at  our  command,  horses  standing 
saddled  in  every  square,  sailboats  in  every  cove,  steamboats 
at  every  flight  of  steps  ;  the  darting  caique,  the  flying 
talika,  and  an  army  of  guides  speaking  all  the  languages  of 
Europe.  Do  you  wish  to  hear  an  Italian  comedy  ?  to  see  the 
dancing  dervishes  ?  or  the  buffoons  of  Casagheuz  ?  or  the 
Turkish  Pulcinella  ?  Do  you  crave  the  licentious  songs  of  the 
smaller  Parisian  theatres  ?  or  will  you  assist  at  a  gymnastic 
performance  by  gypsies  ?  Will  you  hear  an  Arabic  legend  related 
by  a  professional  story-teller,  or  will  you  go  to  the  Greek 
theatre?  hear  an  Imaum  preach;  seethe  Sultan  pass  by?  Ask 
and  receive.  All  nationalities  are  at  your  service  ;  the  Arme- 
nian to  shave  you,  the  Jew  to  black  your  boots,  the  Turk  to 
show  you  to  your  boat,  the  negro  to  shampoo  you  in  your 
bath,  the  Greek  to  bring  you  your  coffee,  and  every  one  of  them 
to  cheat  you.  If  you  are  thirsty,  as  you  walk  about,  you  can 
refresh  yourself  with  ices  made  from  the  snows  of  Olympus ; 
you  can  drink  the  water  of  the  Nile,  like  the  Sultan  ;  or,  if  you 
have  a  weak  stomach,  the  water  of  the  Euphrates  ;  or  if  you 
are  nervous,  the  water  of  the  Danube.     Vou  can  drive  like  the 


48  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Arab  of  the  Desert,  or  like  the  gourmand  at  the  Maison  Dor'e. 
Do  you  wish  to  take  a  midday  nap,  there  are  the  cemeteries ; 
to  distract  your  thoughts,  the  bridge  of  the  Sultana  Valide  ;  to 
indulge  in  dreamy  revery,  the  Bosphorus  ;  to  pass  the  Sunday, 
the  Archipelago  of  the  Princes  ;  to  see  Asia-Minor,  the- Mount 
of  Bulgurla ;  to  see  the  Golden  Horn,  the  Tower  of  Galata  ;  to 
see  every  thing,  the  tower  of  the  Seraskierat.     But  this  is  a  city 
even  more  strange  than  beautiful.     Things  that  never  present 
themselves  together  in  your  mind,  are  here  seen  together  by  your 
eyes.     The  caravan  for  Mecca,  and  the  direct  train  for  the  an- 
cient metropolis  of  Brussa,  both  start  from  Scutari ;  under  the 
mysterious  walls  of  the    Old    Seraglio  passes    the  railway  to 
Sofia  ;  Turkish  soldiers  cross  the  path  of  the  Catholic  priest  as 
he  carries  the  Holy  Sacrament  to  the  dying  ;  the  people  keep 
holiday  in  the  burial  grounds ;  life,  death,  pleasure,  pain,  are 
all  mingled  and  confounded.     There  is  the  movement  of  Lon- 
don with  the  lethargy  of  oriental  idleness,  an  immense  public 
life,  and  a  private  life  of  impenetrable  mystery  ;  an  absolute 
despotism,   and  a  license  without  bounds.     For  the  first  few 
days  you  can  comprehend  nothing ;  every  moment  it  seems  as 
if  the  disorder  must  cease,  or  a  revolution  must  break  out ; 
every  evening  you  return  to  your  inn,  feeling  as  though  you 
were  arriving  after  a  long  journey  ;  every  morning  you  ask  your- 
self— "  Am  I  really  near  Stamboul  ?  "     One  impression  effaces 
another,  wishes  crowd  upon  you,  time  hurries  by ;  you  would  like 
to  stay  there  all  your  life  ;  you  would  like  to  get  away  to-morrow. 
But  when  the  attempt  is  to  be  made  to  describe  this  chaos ! 
— then  comes  the  temptation  to  make  one  bundle  of  all  the  books 
and  papers  on  your  table,  and  throw  the  whole  out  of  the  window. 


GALA  TA.  49 


GALATA. 

My  friend  and  I  did  not  really  recover  our  usual  calmness 
of  mind  until  the  fourth  day  after  our  arrival.  We  were  on  the 
bridge  one  morning,  uncertain  as  to  what  we  should  do  that 
day,  when  Yank  proposed  to  me  to  make  one  first  grand  prom- 
enade with  one  determined  purpose,  and  with  tranquil  souls,  to 
observe  and  study.  "We  will  take,"  said  he,  "the  northern 
shore  of  the  Golden  Horn,  and  do  the  whole  of  it,  even  if  we 
have  to  walk  till  nightfall.  We  will  eat  our  breakfast  in  a 
Turkish  tavern,  take  our  siesta  under  the  shade  of  a  plane  tree, 
and  come  home  in  a  caique."  I  accepted  the  proposition  ;  we 
provided  ourselves  with  cigars  and  small  change,  and  giving 
one  glance  at  a  map  of  the  city,  turned  our  faces  toward 
Galata. 

Let  the  reader  who  wishes  to  know  Constantinople  sacrifice 
himself  and  bear  us  company. 

It  was  from  Galata  that  our  excursion  was  to  commence. 
Galata  is  built  upon  a  hill  that  forms  a  promontory  between  the 
Golden  Horn  and  the  Bosphorus,  and  upon  the  site  of  the 
great  cemetery  of  ancient  Byzantium.  The  streets  are  almost 
all  narrow  and  tortuous,  bordered  by  taverns,  pastry-cook  shops, 
butchers'  and  barbers'  shops,  Greek  and  Armenian  cafes,  mer- 
chants' offices,  workshops,  and  barracks ;  the  whole  dark,  damp, 
muddy  and  sticky  as  in  the  lowest  London  quarter..  A  dense 
3 


50  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

and  busy  crowd  throng  the  streets,  constantly  opening  before 
carriages,  porters,  donkeys,  and  omnibuses.  Almost  all  the 
trade  of  Constantinople  passes  through  Galata.  Here  are  the 
Exchange,  the  Custom  House,  the  officers  of  the  Austrian 
Lloyds,  those  of  the  French  Messageries;  churches,  convents, 
hospitals  and  warehouses.  An  underground  railway  unites 
Galata  to  Pera.  If  it  were  not  for  the  turbans  and  fezes  in  the 
street,  it  is  not  at  all  Oriental  in  its  character.  French,  Italian, 
and  Genoese  are  heard  spoken  on  all  sides.  The  Genoese  are 
here  as  if  in  their  own  houses,  and  have  still  rather  the  air  of 
masters,  as  when  they  closed  the  port  at  their  pleasure,  and 
answered  the  Emperors'  threats  with  cannon.  But  little  re- 
mains of  the  monuments  of  their  ancient  power,  beyond  some 
old  houses  upheld  by  great  pilasters  and  heavy  arches,  and  the 
antique  edifice  where  once  resided  the  Podesta.  Old  Galata 
has  almost  entirely  disappeared.  Thousands  of  small  houses 
have  been  cleared  away  to  make  room  for  two  long  streets,  one 
of  which  mounts  the  hill  towards  Pera,  and  the  other  runs  par- 
allel to  the  sea-shore  from  one  end  of  Galata  to  the  other. 

My  friend  and  I  chose  the  latter  for  our  ramble,  perpetually 
taking  refuge  in  the  shops  before  the  advance  of  great  omni- 
buses, preceded  by  half  naked  Turks  who  cleared  the  way 
with  strokes  of  a  whip.  At  every  step  resounded  in  our  ears 
the  cry  of  the  Turkish  porter,  Sacun-ha  ! — (clear  the  way !) 
or  the  Armenian  water-carrier,  Varme-su / — the  Greek  water- 
seller,  Crio  nero — the  Turkish  donkey  boy,  Barada! — the 
sweetmeat  seller,  Sherbet  /—the  newspaper  vender,  Neologos  ! 
the  Frank  coach  man,  guarda!  guarda  !  After  about  ten  min- 
utes walking,  we  were  deaf.     At  a  certain  point  we  discovered, 


GALATA.  51 

to  our  astonishment,  that  the  street  was  no  longer  paved,  and 
that  the  pavement  appeared  to  have  been  recently  taken  up. 
We  looked  about  for  a  reason,  and  an  Italian  shopkeeper  sat- 
isfied our  curiosity.  That  street  leads,  it  appears,  to  the  Sul- 
tan's palaces.  A  few  months  ago,  as  the  Imperial  cortege  was 
passing  through  it,  the  horse  of  his  majesty  Abdul-Aziz  slipped 
and  fell,  and  the  good  Sultan,  justly  irritated,  ordered  that  the 
offending  pavement  should  be  removed,  from  the  point  where 
the  horse  fell,  as  far  as  his  palace.  At  this  memorable  spot  we 
fixed  the  eastern  terminus  of  our  pilgrimage,  and  turning  our 
backs  upon  the  Bosphorus,  directed  our  steps,  by  a  series  of 
dirty,  winding  alleys  towards  the  tower  of  Galata.  The  city 
has  the  form  of  an  expanded  fan,  and  the  tower  represents  its 
handle.  It  is  a  round  and  very  high  tower,  of  a  dark  color, 
terminating  in  a  conical  point,  formed  by  its  copper  roof,  under 
which  runs  a  range  of  large  windows,  or  kind  of  glazed  gallery 
where  night  and  day  a  guard  watches  for  the  first  sign  of  any 
conflagration  that  may  break  out  in  the  city.  The  Galata  of  the 
Genoese  extends  as  far  as  this  tower,  which  rises  in  fact  upon 
the  line  of  the  wall  that  once  separated  Galata  from  Pera ;  no 
traces  of  which  wall  are  now  to  be  found.  Nor  is  the  tower,  the 
antique  edifice,  erected  in  honor  of  the  Genoese  who  fell  in 
battle ;  for  it  was  rebuilt  by  Mahomet  the  Second  and  before 
that  had  been  restored  by  Selim  the  Third  ;  but  it  is  none  the 
less  a  monument  crowned  with  the  glory  of  Genoa,  and  an 
Italian  can  not  look  upon  it  without  proudly  remembering  that 
handful  of  merchants,  sailors  and  soldiers,  haughty  and  bold  and 
heroically  stubborn,  who  for  ages  held  aloft  the  banner  of  the 
republic,  treating  on  equal  terms  with  the  Emperors  of  the  East. 


52  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Passing  the  tower  we  found  ourselves  in  a  Mussulman  cem- 
etery, the  cemetery  of  Galata  ;  a  great  cypress  wood  that  from 
the  summit  of  the  hill  of  Pera  descends  steeply  to  the  Golden 
Horn,  shading  a  myriad  of  little  columns  of  stone  or  marble, 
that  incline  in  all  directions  and  are  strewn  in  disorder  all 
down  the  descent.  Some  of  these  little  columns  are  crowned 
with  the  figure  of  a  turban,  and  retain  traces  of  color  and  in- 
scriptions;  others  end  in  a  point ;  many  are  overturned;  and 
some  are  broken  off  at  top,  their  turbans  carried  clean  away ; 
and  these  are  supposed  to  have  been  raised  to  the  janissaries, 
whom  Sultan  Mahmoud  thus  dishonored  after  death.  The 
greater  part  of  the  graves  are  indicated  by  a  prism  shaped 
mound  with  a  stone  at  either  end,  upon  which,  according  to 
the  Mussulman  belief,  the  two  angels  Nekir  and  Munkir  are  to 
seat  themselves  when  they  come  to  judge  the  souls  of  the  dead. 
Here  and  there  are  to  be  seen  small  enclosures  surrounded  by 
a  low  wall  or  a  railing,  in  the  middle  of  which  stands  a  column 
surmounted  by  a  large  turban,  and  about  it  other  small  col- 
umns:  it  is  a  pasha,  or  some  great  noble,  buried  in  the  midst 
of  his  wives  and  children.  Little  paths  wind  all  about  the 
wood ;  a  Turk  sits  in  the  shade  smoking  his  pipe  ;  some  chil- 
dren run  and  jump  among  the  graves ;  a  cow  is  feeding  there  ; 
hundreds  of  turtle-doves  coo  among  the  cypresses  ;  groups  of 
veiled  women  pass  by ;  and  in  the  distance  between  the  trees 
shines  the  blue  background  of  the  Golden  Horn  striped  by  the 
white  minarets  of  Stamboul. 

Leaving  the  cemetery  we  enter  the  principal  street  of  Pera. 
Pera  is  one  hundred  metres  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  is  airy 
and  cheerful,  and  looks  down  upon  the  Golden  Horn  and  the 


GALATA.  53 

Bosphorus.  It  is  the  West  End  of  the  European  colony  ;  the 
centre  of  pleasure  and  elegance.  The  street  we  follow  is 
bordered  by  English  and  American  hotels,  handsome  caftis, 
glittering  shops,  theatres,  consulates,  clubs,  and  palaces  of  am- 
bassadors ;  among  which  that  of  Russia  is  the  largest  and  most 
conspicuous,  dominating  Pera,  Galata,  and  the  suburbs  like 
some  great  fortress.  Here  swarms  a  crowd  quite  different  from 
that  of  Galata. 

Almost  all  wear  stove-pipe  hats,  and  the  ladies  are  crowned 
with  plumed  and  flow  :ry  French  bonnets.  There  are  exquisites 
from  Greece,  from  Italy,  and  France  ;  merchants  of  high  pre- 
tensions, attaches  of  the  different  legations,  officers  of  foreign 
ships  of  war,  ambassadorial  coaches,  and  equivocal  figures  of 
every  country.  Turks  stop  to  admire  the  wax  busts  in  the  bar- 
bers' shops,  and  Turkish  women  stand  open-mouthed  before 
the  windows  of  the  milliners ;  Europe  talks  in  a  loud  voice, 
jokes  and  giggles  in  the  middle  of  the  street ;  the  Mussulman 
feels  himself  in  a  strange  land  and  hastens  by  with  his  head 
a  shade  less  lofty  than  at  Stamboul.  My  friend  made  me  turn 
and  look  back  at  Stamboul  that  lay  behind  an  azure  veil  in  the 
distance,  with  the  Seraglio,  Santa  Sofia,  and  the  Mosque  of 
Sultan  Ahmed  gleaming  through ;  another  world  than  that  we 
stood  in — "  and  now,"  said  he — "look  here."  I  dropped  my 
eyes  and  read  in  a  shop-window — La  Dame  aux  Camelias — 
Madame  Borary — Mademoiselle  Giraud  ma  femme*  Presently 
it  was  my  turn  to  stop. my  companion  and  show  him  a  marvel- 
lous cafe,  where,  at  the  end  of  a  long  dark  corridor,  an  im- 
mense window,  spread  wide  open,  displayed  at  what  seemed  a 
*  Three  licentious  French  novels. 


54  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

great  distance,  a  magnificent  view  of  Scutari  illuminated  by 
the  sun. 

We  had  nearly  reached  the  end  of  the  grand  street  of  Pera, 
when  we  heard  a  thundering  voice  declaiming  in  French  "  I 
love  thee,  Adele — I  love  thee  more  than  life !  "  We  looked  in 
each  -other's  faces  in  amazement.  Presently  through  a  fissure 
in  the  wall  we  beheld  a  garden  with  rows  of  seats,  a  stage,  and 
a  company  of  actors  rehearsing.  A  Turkish  lady  at  a  little  dis- 
tance peeped  also  through  the  wall  and  quivered  with  laughter. 
An  old  Turk  passing  by  shook  his  head  reprovingly.  Suddenly 
the  lady  gave  a  shriek  and  fled  ;  other  women  near  screamed 
and  turned  their  backs.  What  had  happened  ?  Only  a  Turk, 
as  naked  as  he  was  born,  a  man  about  fifty  years  old,  known  to 
all  Constantinople,  whose  fancy  it  is  to  promenade  in  that 
fashion.  The  poor  wretch  jumped  along  over  the  stones,  yell- 
ing and  laughing,  while  a  crowd  of  boys  followed  him  making  a 
most  infernal  racket.  "  He  will  be  arrested,  I  hope  ?  "  said  I 
to  the  door  keeper  of  the  theatre.  "  Not  at  all,"  he  replied ; 
"He  has  been  going  about  like  that  for  months,  in  perfect  lib- 
erty." Meantime  down  the  street  of  Pera  we  could  see  people 
coming  out  of  their  shops  to  look,  women  running  away,  girls 
hiding  their  faces,  doors  being  closed,  heads  popping  in  and 
out  of  windows  ;  and  this  goes  on  all  day,  and  nobody  troubles 
himself  to  put  an  end  to  it! 

Coming  out  of  the  street  of  Pera,  we  found  ourselves  near 
another  Mussulman  cemetery,  shaded  by  a  cypress  grove,  and 
enclosed  by  a  high  wall.  We  never  should  have  guessed  if  we 
had  not  been  told,  the  meaning  of  that  wall,  newly  erected ; 
that  the  grove  sacred  to  the  repose  of  the  dead  had  been  turned 


GALATA.  55 

into  a  sort  of  pleasure  garden  for  soldiers  !  Further  on,  in 
fact,  we  found  the  enormous  artillery  barrack,  built  by  Schalil- 
Pasha  ;  a  solid  rectangular  edifice,  in  the  Turkish  renaissance 
style,  with  a  door  flanked  by  light  columns  and  surmounted  by 
the  crescent  and  golden  star  of  Mahmoud,  with  projecting  gal- 
leries, and  windows  emblazoned  with  arms  and  arabesques. 
Before  the  barrack  passes  the  street  of  Dgiedessy,  which  is  a 
prolongation  of  that  of  Pera,  and  beyond,  various  squares  and 
streets.  Here  every  Sunday  evening  there  passes  a  long  pro- 
cession of  carriages  and  foot  passengers,  all  the  fashionable 
world  of  Pera,  that  comes  to  pass  its  evening  in  the  cafes  aud 
beer-gardens  of  the  Barrack.  We  stopped  at  the  cafe  of  the 
Bella- Vista — worthy  of  its  name,  for  it  commands  a  most  en- 
chanting view  of  the  Mussulman  suburb  of  Funducli,  the  Bos- 
phorus  covered  with  ships,  the  Asiatic  shore  sprinkled  with 
gardens  and  villages,  Scutari  and  her  white  mosques,  and  a 
lovely  confusion  of  green  and  azure,  and  light  that  seems  a 
dream  to  remember.  We  left  it  with  regret,  and  felt  ourselves 
wretchedly  mean  as  we  paid  eight  miserable  cents  for  our  two 
cups  of  coffee,  and  that  vision  of  a  terrestrial  paradise. 

From  the  Bella- Vista  we  passed  directly  into  that  great 
field  of  the  dead  where  are  interred,  in  separate  cemeteries, 
people  of  all  religions,  except  the  Hebrews.  It  is  a  thick  for- 
est of  cypresses,  acacias  and  sycamores,  amid  which  glimmer 
thousands  of  white  sepulchral  stones,  looking  in  the  distance 
like  the  ruins  of  a  city.  Between  the  trees  shines  the  Bospho- 
rus  with  the  Asiatic  shore.  Wide  paths  wind  about  it,  where 
Greeks  and  Armenians  are  walking.  Upon  some  of  the  tombs 
sit  Turks,  cross-legged,  and  admiring  the  view.     There  is  a 


5  6  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

freshness  of  shade,  and  a  peacefulness  that  give  one  the  sensa- 
tion of  having  entered  some  great  sombre  cathedral.  We 
stopped  in  the  Armenian  cemetery.  The  sepulchral  stones  are 
all  large  and  flat,  and  covered  with  inscriptions  in  the  elegant 
Armenian  character,  and  on  nearly  all  of  them  is  sculptured 
some  emblem  of  the  trade  or  profession  of  the  deceased. 
There  are  hammers,  pens,  necklaces  ;  the  banker  is  represented 
by  a  pair  of  scales,  the  priest  by  a  mitre,  the  barber  by  a  basin, 
the  surgeon  by  a  lancet.  On  one  stone  we  saw  the  image  of  a 
severed  head,  streaming  with  blood  ;  it  was  the  tomb  either  of 
a  murdered  man,  or  of  one  who  had  been  judicially  executed. 
An  Armenian  lay  beside  it  in  the  grass,  asleep,  with  his  face 
turned  up  to  the  sky.  We  entered  the  Mussulman  cemetery. 
Here  also  was  an  infinity  of  short  columns  scattered  about  in 
disorderly  groups ;  those  erected  to  women  had  an  ornament 
in  relief  representing  flowers  ;  many  were  surrounded  by  shrubs 
and  flowering  plants.  As  we  stood  looking  at  one  of  these,  two 
Turks  came  up,  leading  a  child  between  them,  and  seating 
themselves  upon  a  tomb,  opened  a  bundle  and  began  to  eat. 
When  they  had  finished,  the  elder  one  of  the  two  wrapped  up 
something  in  a  paper — it  looked  like  a  fish  and  a  piece  of 
bread — and  with  a  respectful  gesture,  placed  the  little  packet  in 
a  hole  near  the  head  of  the  grave.  This  done,  they  both 
lighted  their  pipes  and  smoked,  while  the  child  played  about 
among  the  tombs.  It  was  after  explained  to  us  that  this  fish 
and  bread  were  left  as  a  mark  of  affection  to  their  friend,  proba- 
bly recently  deceased  ;  and  the  hole  in  which  they  placed  it  is 
to  be  found  in  every  Turkish  tomb,  near  the  head,  so  that 
through  it  the  dead  may  hear  the  lamentations  of  their  friends, 


GALATA.  57 

and  may  receive  from  them  a  few  drops  of  rose  water  or  the 
perfume  of  a  flower.  Their  funeral  smoke  completed,  the  two 
pious  Turks  took  the  child  between  them,  and  vanished  among 
the  cypresses. 

Proceeding  on  our  way,  we  soon  found  ourselves  in  another 
Christian  quarter — Pancaldi,  with  spacious  streets  and  new 
buildings,  surrounded  by  villas,  gardens,  hospitals,  and  barracks. 
It  is  the  farthest  from  the  sea  of  all  the  suburbs,  and  after  vis- 
iting it,  we  turned  back  toward  the  Golden  Horn.  In  the  last 
street,  we  witnessed  a  new  and  solemn  spectacle  ;  the  passage 
of  a  Greek  funeral.  A  silent  crowd  filled  the  street  on  both 
sides  ;  first  came  a  group  of  Greek  priests,  in  embroidered 
robes  ;  then  the  archimandrite  with  a  crown  upon  his  head,  and 
a  long  gown  richly  decorated  with  gold  ;  some  young  ecclesias- 
tics in  brilliant-colored  dresses  j  a  quantity  of  friends  and  rela- 
tions in  their  richest  costumes,  and  in  the  midst  of  them  a  bier, 
wreathed  with  flowers,  on  which  lay  the  body  of  a  girl  of  fifteen, 
with  uncovered  face,  and  resplendent  in  satin  and  jewels.  The 
little  snow-white  face  had  an  expression  of  pain  about  the  con- 
tracted mouth,  and  two  beautiful  tresses  of  black  hair  lay  over 
the  shoulders  and  bosom.  The  bier  passed  by,  the  crowd 
closed  in,  and  we  remained  alone  and  saddened  in  the  deserted 
street. 

Ascending  the  hill  of  Pancaldi,  and  crossing  the  dry  bed  of 
a  torrent,  we  mounted  another  hill  and  reached  another  suburb  ; 
San  Dimitri.  Here  the  population  is  almost  all  Greek.  Black 
eyes  and  thin  aquiline  noses  are  to  be  seen  on  every  side  ; 
old  men  of  patriarchal  aspect ;  slender,  haughty  young  men ; 
women  with  their  hair  on  their  shoulders  ;  boys  with  astute 
3* 


53  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

visages,  romping  in  the  middle  of  the  street  among  the  hens 
and  pigs,  and  filling  the  air  with  the  sound  of  their  silvery  and 
harmonious  speech.  We  approached  a  group  of  these  last, 
who  were  playing  with  stones  and  chattering  all  together,  when 
one,  a  child  of  about  eight  years  old,  and  the  wildest  of  them 
all,  every  moment  throwing  his  little  fez  into  the  air  and  yelling, 
Zito  !  Zito  / — (Hurra!)  suddenly  turned  to  another  who  was 
seated  on  a  door-step,  and  called  out — Checchino !  Buttami  la 
palla!"*  I  seized  him  by  the  arm,  and  said — "  You  an  Ital- 
ian ?" — "No,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  I  belong  to  Constantinople." 

"  And  who  taught  you  to  speak  Italian  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Who  indeed  !  "  said  he,  "  why,  mamma,  of  course." 

"And  where  is  mamma?"  At  this  there  advanced  a  smil- 
ing woman,  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  and  told  me  that  she  was 
from  Pisa,  the  wife  of  a  Leghorn  marble-cutter,  that  she  had 
lived  eight  years  in  Constantinople,  and  this  was  her  son.  If 
this  good  woman  had  been  a  handsome  matron,  with  a  turreted 
crown  upon  her  head,  and  a  mantle  upon  her  ample  shoulders, 
she  coulrl  not  have  represented  Italy  more  vividly  to  my  heart 
and  eyes.  "  How  came  you  here  ?  "  I  asked.  "  And  what  do 
you  think  of  Constantinople?  " 

"What  shall  I  say?"  she  answered,  smiling  ingenuously. 
11  It  is  a  city  which — to  tell  the  truth,  it  always  seems  like 
the  last  day  of  the  carnival."  And  here  giving  the  rein  to  her 
Tuscan  tongue,  she  told  me  that  as  for  the  Mussulmans,  their 
god  is  Mahomet,  that  a  Turk  may  marry  four  wives,  that  the 
Turkish  language  is  a  good  one  for  those  who  can  understand 
a  word  of  it,  and  other  novel  things  of  the  same  kind ;  but 
*  "  Frank,  throw  me  the  ball." 


GALA  TA.  59 

spoken  in  that  tongue,  in  that  Greek  quarter,  it  seemed  to  me 
sweeter  than  any  fresher  news  could  be,  and  I  went  away 
leaving  a  few  coins  in  the  boy's  hand,  and  murmuring  to  my- 
self— "  Ah !  a  taste  of  Italy,  now  and  then,  does  one  a  world 
of  good." 

We  turned  up  next  in  another  Greek  quarter,  called  Sata- 
ola,  where,  as  our  stomachs  cried  out  for  food,  we  seized  the 
occasion  to  visit  the  interior  of  one  of  those  innumerable  tav- 
erns, which  are  so  singular  of  aspect,  and  all  formed  upon  one 
model.  An  immense  room,  big  enough  for  a  theatre  ;  lighted 
generally  only  by  the  door,  and  surrounded  by  a  high  balus- 
traded  gallery  of  wood.  On  one  side  there  is  an  enormous 
stove,  at  which  a  brigand  in  his  shirt  sleeves  is  frying  fish, 
turning  roasts,  mixing  sauces,  and  in  other  ways  occupying 
himself  in  the  shortening  of  human  life  ;  on  the  other  side  a 
bench  where  another  bandit  is  distributing  red  and  white  wine 
in  goblets  with  handles  ;  in  the  middle  and  in  front  some  dwarf 
seats  without  backs,  and  some  tables  but  little  higher  than  the 
seats,  which  remind  one  of  a  cobbler's  bench.  We  entered 
with  some  hesitation,  because  of  a  group  of  Greeks  and  Ar- 
menians of  the  lowest  class,  who  might  have  resented  our 
presence  in  a  disagreeable  way,  but  they  did  not  deign  even 
to  glance  at  us.  The  inhabitants  of  Constantinople  are,  I 
think,  the  least  curious  of  any  people  in  the  world  ;  one  must 
be  either  the  Sultan,  or  the  madman  of  Pera,  and  run  naked 
through  the  streets,  in  order  to  attract  the  slightest  notice. 
We  seated  ourselves  in  a  corner  and  waited.  No  one  came. 
Then  we  remembered  that  in  a  Constantinople  tavern,  people 
waited  on   themselves.     First  we  went  to  the  stove  and  de- 


60  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

manded  a  roast ;  God  only  knows  of  what  animal ;  then  to  the 
counter  and  secured  a  goblet  of  the  resinous  wine  of  Tenedos, 
and  carrying  the  whole  to  a  table  that  just  reached  to  our 
knees,  we  turned  up  our  eyes  at  each  other,  and  consumed 
the  sacrifice.  We  paid  our  score  with  resignation,  and  silently 
issued  forth,  in  dread  that  if  we  opened  our  mouths,  we 
should  bark  or  bray,  and  resumed  our  journey  towards  the 
Golden  Horn. 

After  ten  minutes  walk,  we  are  once  more  in  the  heart  of 
Turkey  ;  in  the  great  Mussulman  suburb  of  Kassim-Pasha,  a 
city  thick  set  with  mosques  and  convents  of  dervishes,  full  of 
flower  and  vegetable  gardens,  which  occupies  a  hill  and  a  val- 
ley, and  which  extending  to  the  Golden  Horn,  embraces  the 
whole  of  the  ancient  bay  of  Mandracchia,  from  the  cemetery  of 
Galata  to  the  promontory  that  overlooks  Balata,  on  the  oppo- 
site shore.  From  the  heights  of  Kassim-Pasha,  the  spectacle  is 
an  enchanting  one.  Below  upon  the  shore,  you  see  the  immense 
arsenal  of  Ters-Kane  ;  a  labyrinth  of  docks,  factories,  squares, 
storehouses  and  barracks,  that  extends  for  a  mile  along  that 
part  of  the  Golden  Horn  which  is  used  as  a  port  for  vessels  of 
war  ;  the  light  and  elegant  building  of  the  Ministry  of  Marine, 
that  seems  floating  on  the  water,  is  seen  upon  the  dark  green 
background  of  the  cemetery  of  Galata ;  the  harbor  is  full  of 
small  steamboats  and  caiques  full  of  people,  that  dart  about 
among  the  iron-clads  lying  at  anchor,  and  old  frigates  dating 
from  the  Crimean  war  j  and  on  the  opposite  shore,  Stamboul, 
the  aqueduct  of  Valentinian,  that  throws  its  lofty  arches  against 
the  blue  sky,  the  great  mosques  of  Soliman  and  Mahomet  the 
Second,  and  a  myriad  of  houses  and  minarets.     To  enjoy  the 


GALATA.  6 1 

spectacle  longer,  we  seated  ourselves  before  a  Turkish  cafe,  and 
absorbed  a  fourth  or  fifth  of  those  twelve  cups  of  coffee  which 
every  one  at  Constantinople  is  required  to  swallow  in  a  day, 
whether  he  wants  them  or  not.  It  was  a  mean  little  place,  but 
like  all  the  Turkish  cafes,  perfectly  original  ;  not  very  different 
probably,  from  the  first  cafi  of  the  time  of  Soliman  the  Great, 
or  from  those  into  which  Amurath  Fourth  broke,  with  his 
scimetar  in  his  hand,  when  he  made  his  noctural  rounds  and 
castigated  the  vendors  of  the  prohibited  liquor.  Of  how  many 
imperial  edicts,  of  how  many  -theological  disputes  and  sangui- 
nary struggles  has  not  this  black  liquid  been  the  cause  ;  "  this 
enemy  of  sleep,  and  of  fecundity " — as  the  more  austere 
ulemas  call  it ; — "  this  genius  of  dreams  and  exciter  of  the  im- 
agination," as  it  is  named  by  the  ulemas  of  broader  opinions ; 
now,  after  love  and  tobacco,  it  is  the  dearest  comfort  to  all, 
even  the  poorest  Osmanle.  Coffee  is  drank  on  the  tops  of  the 
Towers  of  Galata  and  the  Seraskierat,  in  all  the  steamboats,  in 
the  cemeteries,  in  the  barbers'  shops,  at  the  baths,  in  the 
bazaars.  No  matter  in  what  corner  of  Constantinople  you  may 
find  yourself,  you  have  only  to  cry  out,  without  turning  your 
head  : — cafege!  (coffee  seller!)  and  in  three  minutes  a  cup  is 
smoking  before  you. 

Our  cafe  was  a  whitewashed  room,  wainscoted  with  wood 
to  the  height  of  a  man,  with  a  low  divan  running  all  round  it. 
In  one  corner  there  was  a  stove  at  which  a  Turk  with  forked 
(sic)  nose  was  making  coffee  in  a  small  copper  coffee-pot,  and 
turning  it  out  as  he  made  it  into  tiny  cups,  putting  in  the  sugar 
at  the  same  time  ;  for,  at  Constantinople,  the  coffee  is  made 
fresh  for  every  customer,  and  is  brought  him  already  sugared, 


62  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

together  with  a  glass  of  water  that  every  Turk  drinks  before 
approaching  the  cup  of  coffee  to  his  lips  ;  upon  the  wall  was 
suspended  a  small  mirror,  and  beside  it  a  sort  of  rack  contain- 
ing razors  with  fixed  handles  ;  the  greater  part  of  the  caf.s 
being  also  barbers"  shops,  and  not  unfrequently  the  cafe  keeper 
is  also  a  dentist  and  a  blood-letter,  and  operates  upon  his  vie 
tims  in  the  same  room  where  the  other  customers  are  taking 
their  coffee.  Upon  the  opposite  wall  hung  another  rack  full  of 
crystal  narghiles  with  long  flexible  tubes,  twisted  like  serpents, 
and  chibouks  of  earthenware  with  cherry  wood  stems.  Five 
pensive  Turks  were  seated  upon  the  divan  smoking  the  narghile, 
while  three  others  sat  in  front  of  the  door  on  low  straw  seats 
without  backs,  one  beside  the  other,  pipe  in  mouth,  and  their 
shoulders  leaning  against  the  wall;  before  the  mirror  sat  a  fat 
dervish  in  a  camels'  hair  gown,  having  his  head  shaved  by  one 
of  the  shop  boys.  No  one  looked  at  us  when  we  sat  down,  no 
one  spoke,  and  except  the  master  of  the  cafe  and  his  assistant, 
no  one  made  a  movement.  There  was  no  sound  but  the  bubble 
of  the  water  in  the  narghiles,  that  resembled  the  purring  of  so 
many  cats.  Each  one  looked  straight  before  him  with  fixed 
eyes,  and  absolutely  no  expression.  It  was  like  a  small  wax- 
work show.  Many  of  these  scenes  remain  forever  impressed 
upon  my  memory.  A  wooden  house,  a  Turk  seated,  a  lovely 
distant  view,  a  great  light,  and  a  great  silence.  Such  is  Tur- 
key. Every  time  that  name  rises  in  my  memory,  these  mazes 
pass  before  it,  as  when  I  think  of  Holland,  a  canal  and  a  wind- 
mill instantly  present  themselves.  We  next  find  ourselves  in 
the  small  Turkish  suburb  of  Piale-Pasha,  and  stop  before  the 
mosque  which  gives  it  its  name.     It  is  a  white  mosque,  sur- 


GALA  TA,  63 

mounted  by  six  graceful  domes,  wilh  a  court  surrounded  by  an 
arched  colonnade,  a  slender  minaret,  and  a  grove  of  gigantic 
cypresses.  At  that  moment  all  the  small  houses  about  it  were 
closed,  the  streets  deserted,  the  court  of  the  mosque  itself  in 
perfect  solitude ;  the  light  and  shadow  of  high  noon  lay  over  all 
things,  and  no  sound  broke  the  silence  save  the  buzzing  of 
wasps,  or  flies.  We  looked  at  our  watches;  it  wanted  three 
minutes  to  twelve  ;  one  of  the  five  canonical  Mussulman  hours, 
in  which  the  muezzin  appears  upon  the  terrace  of  his  minaret  to 
chant  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  horizon  the  sacramental 
formula  of  Islam.  We  knew  well  that  there  was  not  in  all 
Constantinople,  a  minaret  upon  which  there  does  not  appear, 
at  the  moment  fixed,  punctual  as  a  clock-work  automaton,  the 
announcer  of  the  Prophet.  And  yet  it  appeared  a  strange  thing 
that  there  also,  in  that  remote  extremity  of  the  immense  city, 
upon  that  solitary  mosque,  in  that  profound  silence,  the  figure 
should  appear  and  the  voice  be  heard.  I  held  my  watch  in  my 
hand,  and  both  of  us  watched  intently  the  small  door  upon  the 
terrace  of  the  minaret.  The  minute  hand  touched  the  sixteenth 
black  dot,  and  no  one  had  appeared.  "  He  will  not  come  ! "  I 
said. — "  He  is  here  !  "  cried  Yank.  There  he  was.  The  para- 
pet of  the  terrace  concealed  all  but  his  face,  and  the  distance 
rendered  the  features  invisible.  He  stood  a  moment  silent: 
then  covering  his  ears  with  his  hands,  and  turning  up  his  face 
to  the  sky,  he  chanted  in  a  high,  tremulous  voice,  and  very 
slowly,  with  a  solemn  and  lamenting  accent,  the  sacred  words, 
that  were  then  resounding  from  every  minaret  in  Africa,  Asia, 
and  Europe  : — "  God  is  great !  There  is  but  one  God  !  Ma- 
homet is  the  prophet  of  God  !     Come  to  prayer  !     Come  and 


64  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

be  saved !  God  is  great !  God  is  one  alone !  Come  to 
prayer ! " 

He  chanted  the  same  words  towards  each  of  the  four  points 
of  the  compass,  and  then  vanished.  At  the  same  instant,  there 
came  to  our  ears  faintly,  the  last  notes  of  another  distant  voice, 
that  sounded  like  the  cry  of  some  creature  in  distress,  and  then 
the  silence  fell  again,  and  we  remained  also  silent,  conscious  of 
a  vague  sadness,  as  if  those  voices  of  the  air  had  counselled 
prayer  to  us  alone,  and  left  us  to  ourselves,  like  two  souls  aban- 
doned of  God.  No  tolling  bell  has  ever  touched  my  heart  like 
this ;  and  on  that  day  I  understood  for  the  first  time  why  Ma- 
homet, calling  the  faithful  to  prayer,  had  preferred  the  human 
voice  to  the  trumpet  of  the  Israelites,  or  the  rattle  of  the  early 
Christians.  He  was  long  uncertain  as  to  his  choice,  and  it  was 
a  chance  that  the  whole  world  did  not  take  on  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent aspect  from  that  which  it  now  bears ;  because,  had  he 
chosen  the  rattle,  which  would  afterwards  have  been  changed 
into  a  bell,  the  minaret  also  would  have  necessarily  been  trans- 
formed, and  one  of  the  most  original  and  graceful  features  of  an 
oriental  city  and  landscape  would  have  been  lost  forever. 

Ascending  the  hill  from  Piale-Pasha  towards  the  west,  we 
saw  the  whole  of  the  Golden  Horn,  and  all  Stamboul,  from 
Eyub  to  the  Seraglio  hill  ;  four  miles  of  gardens  and  of  mosques, 
a  prospect  of  such  beauty  and  grandeur  that  it  should  have  been 
contemplated  on  one's  knee,  like  a  celestial  vision.  The  deso- 
late spot  on  which  we  stood  was  the  Ok-Meidan,  or  place  of 
arrows,  where  the  Sultans  used  to  go  to  draw  the  bow,  according 
to  the  usage  of  the  kings  of  Persia.  There  are  still  standing, 
at  unequal  distances,  a  few  small  marble  columns,  with  inscrip- 


GALATA.  65 

tions,  marking  the  points  where  the  Imperial  arrows  fell.  The 
elegant  kiosk,  with  its  tribune,  from  which  the  Sultan  shot,  is 
also  there.  In  the  fields  to  the  right,  once  stretched  a  long  file 
of  beys  and  pashas,  living  points  of  admiration,  with  which  the 
Padishah  did  homage  to  his  own  dexterity,  to  the  left  stood 
twelve  pages  of  the  Imperial  house,  who  ran  to  pick  up  the  ar- 
rows and  to  mark  the  points  where  they  fell ;  around  behind  the 
trees  and  bushes,  a  few  rash  Turks  contemplated  in  hiding  the 
august  figure  of  the  grand  Seigneur;  and  upon  the  tribune  in  a 
superb  athletic  attitude  stood  Mahmoud,  the  most  vigorous 
archer  in  the  empire,  whose  sparkling  eyes  made  all  beholders 
drop  their  own  in  humility,  and  whose  famous  beard,  black  as  a 
crow  of  Mount  Taurus,  stood  out  from  afar,  upon  his  milk-white 
mantle,  splashed  with  the  blood  of  the  Janissaries.  Now,  every- 
thing is  changed  and  prosaic  ;  the  Sultan  fires  at  a  mark  with  a 
revolver  in  the  court  of  his  palace,  and  the  Ok-Meidan  is  given 
over  to  infantry  soldiers  and  rifle-practice.  There  is  a  convent 
of  dervishes  on  one  side,  a  solitary  cafe  on  the  other;  and  the 
whole  plane  is  desolate  and  melancholy  as  a  steppe. 

We  descended  into  another  small  Turkish  suburb,  called 
Piri-Pasha,  perhaps  after  the  famous  Grand  Vizier  of  Sultan  Se- 
lim,  who  educated  Soliman  the  Great.  Piri-Pasha  looks  over 
the  Israelitish  suburb  of  Balata,  on  the  opposite  shore.  We 
met  no  one  but  a  few  beggars  and  dogs.  But  the  solitude  ena- 
bled us  the  better  to  consider  the  peculiarities  of  the  place.  It 
is  a  singular  thing.  In  that  suburb  as  in  every  other  part  of 
Constantinople,  when  you  are  within  it,  after  having  seen  it  first 
from  the  sea  or  from  the  neighboring  heights,  you  have  the  same 
impression  as  when  you  go  upon  the  stage  during  the  perform- 


66  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

ance  of  a  ballet,  after  having  seen  it  from  the  boxes ;  you  are 
astonished  that  such  an  assemblage  of  mean  and  ugly  things 
should  have  produced  such  a  brilliant  illusion.  I  believe  there 
is  no  city  in  the  world  where  beauty  is  so  purely  an  appearance, 
an  illusion,  as  it  is  in  Constantinople.  Seen  from  Balata,  Piri- 
Pasha  is  a  charming  little  spot,  all  glowing  with  color  and  gar- 
landed with  verdure,  reflected  in  the  waters  of  the  Golden  Horn 
like  a  nymph,  and  invoking  a  hundred  images  of  love  and 
pleasure.  Go  into  it,  and  all  this  beauty  vanishes.  A  few 
small  shabby  houses,  painted  in  staring  colors  like  booths  at 
a  fair,  a  few  narrow  and  dirty  courts  looking  like  the  haunts 
of  witches ;  dusty  fig-trees  and  cypresses  in  groups,  gardens 
encumbered  with  rubbish,  deserted  alleys,  misery,  dirt,  and 
wretchedness,  such  is  Piri-Pashi.  But  go  down  a  few  steps, 
jump  into  a  caique,  and  with  four  or  five  strokes  of  the  oar, 
behold  a  fantastic  little  town,  in  all  the  pomp  of  its  unreal  grace 
and  beauty. 

Still  skirting  the  Golden  Horn,  we  descend  into  another 
suburb,  vast,  populous,  and  of  a  strange  aspect,  when  we  be- 
come almost  immediately  aware  that  we  are  no  longer  among 
Mussulmen.  The  ground  seems  to  swarm  with  diseased  and 
filthy  children ;  deformed  and  ragged  old  women  sit  in  the 
doorways,  working  with  skeleton  hands  among  old  iron-ware, 
bones,  and  rags ;  men  clothed  in  long,  dirty  garments  and  with 
a  ragged  handkerchief  bound  round  their  heads,  glide  furtively 
by  close  to  the  walls  ;  sinister  faces  at  the  windows  ;  rags  pen- 
dent from  house  to  house ;  litter  and  filth  at  every  step.  It 
is  Hasskioj,  the  Jewish  quarter,  the  ghetto  of  the  northern 
shore  of  the  Golden  Horn,  which  fronts  that  of  the  other  shore, 


GALA  TA.  67 

and  which  during  the  Crimean  war  were  connected  together  by 
a  wooden  bridge  now  entirely  disappeared.  Here  begins  an- 
other long  chain  of  arsenals,  military  schools,  barracks  and 
exercising  grounds,  that  extend  almost  to  the  end  of  the  Golden 
Horn.  But  of  all  this  we  saw  nothing,  because  by  this  time 
both  head  and  legs  had  given  out.  Already  everything  that 
we  had  seen  was  confounded  in  our  minds ;  we  felt  as  if  we 
had  been  journeying  for  a  week ;  we  thought  of  distant  Pera 
with  a  slight  sensation  of  home-sickness,  and  would  have  turned 
back  then  and  there,  but  for  the  solemn  compact  made  upon 
the  bridge ;  and  Yank  reviving  my  spirits,  according  to  his  cus- 
tom, with  the  march  in  Aida,  we  proceeded  on  our  way. 

Crossing  another  Mussulman  cemetery,  and  ascending  an- 
other hill,  we  entered  the  suburb  of  Halidgi-Oghli,  inhabited  by 
a  mixed  population ;  a  little  city,  where  at  every  turn,  one  en- 
countered a  new  race  and  a  new  religion.  We  went  up,  we 
went  down,  we  climbed,  we  wound  about  among  tombs,  mosques, 
churches,  and  synagogues  ;  we  skirted  gardens  and  crossed 
squares ;  we  met  handsome  Armenian  matrons,  and  light-man- 
nered Turkish  women  who  leered  at  us  from  under  their  veils ; 
we  heard  Greek,  Armenian,  and  Spanish  spoken — the  Spanish 
of  the  Hebrews — and  we  walked,  and  walked.  Some  time  or 
other  we  must  arrive  at  the  end  of  this  Constantinople  !  we  said 
to  each  other.  Everything  in  the  world  has  an  end  ! — already 
the  houses  were  less  thick,  kitchen-gardens  appeared,  we  passed 
one  last  group  of  sheds,  and  arrived — at  another  suburb. 

The  Christian  suburb  of  Sudludge,  standing  upon  a  hill 
snrrounded,  as  usual,  by  gardens  and  burial  grounds.  At  the 
foot  of  this  hill  once  existed  the  only  bridge  that  united  the  two 


68  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

shores  of  the  Golden  Horn.  But  we  have  come  to  the  end,  for 
this  suburb  is  the  last,  and  God  willing,  our  excursion  is  fin- 
ished. Looking  about  for  a  place  to  rest,  we  mounted  a  steep 
and  bare  ascent  and  found  ourselves  in  the  largest  Jewish  cem- 
etery of  Constantinople  :  a  vast  plain  covered  with  myriads  of 
overturned  stones,  which  looks  like  a  town  ruined  by  an  earth- 
quake, without  tree  or  flower,  or  blade  of  grass,  or  trace  of  path 
within  it ;  a  desolate  solitude  that  oppresses  the  heart,  like  the 
spectacle  of  some  great  misfortune.  Seating  ourselves  upon  a 
tombstone,  we  rested,  and  admired  the  magnificent  panorama 
that  lay  spread  out  before  us.  Below  could  be  seen  Sudludge, 
Halidgi-Oghli,  Hasskioj,  Piri-Pasha,  a  perspective  of  suburbs 
closed  in  by  the  azure  of  the  sea  and  the  verdure  of  gardens; 
to  the  left  the  solitary  Ok-Meidan,  and  the  hundred  minarets 
of  Kassim-Pasha;  further  on  Stamboul,  vague  and  intermina- 
ble ;  beyond  Stamboul  the  lofty  lines  of  the  Asiatic  mountains 
almost  lost. in  the  heavens;  in  front,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Golden  Horn,  the  mysterious  quarter  of  Eyub,  of  which  one  by 
one  could  be  distinguished  the  rich  mausoleums,  the  marble 
mosques,  the  verdant  and  tree-shaded  slopes  sprinkled  with 
tombs ;  the  solitary  alleys,  and  the  recesses  full  of  sadness  and 
grace;  to  the  right  of  Eyub  other  villages  mirrored  in  the  water, 
and  finally  the  last  curve  of  the  Golden  Horn,  losing  itself  be- 
tween two  high  banks  clothed  with  trees  and  flowers. 

Gazing  upon  this  spectacle,  tired  and  almost  half  asleep, 
we  unconsciously  put  all  the  beauty  into  music,  and  sang  low 
to  ourselves  I  know  not  what  forgotten  tune ;  we  wondered 
who  had  been  the  dead  upon  whose  tomb  we  sat ;  we  poked 
an  ants'  nest  with  a  straw;  we  talked  about  a  hundred  foolish 


GALA  TA.  69 

things;  and  from  time  to  time  we  asked  each  other: — Are  we 
really  in  Constantinople  ? — then  we  thought  that  life  is  brief 
and  that  all  is  vanity;  and  then  we  shivered  with  delight;  but 
at  heart  we  felt  that  no  beauty  of  the  earth  can  give  a  perfect 
joy  if  we  must  contemplate  it  away  from  all  we  love. 

The  sun  was  about  to  set  when  we  descended  to  the  shore 
and  took  a  four-oared  caique  ;  and  had  hardly  given  the  order — 
Galata  !  when  the  light  boat  was  already  far  from  land.  The 
caique  is  certainly  the  prettiest  boat  that  ever  floated  on  water. 
It  is  longer  than  the  gondola,  but  narrower  and  more  shallow  ; 
it  is  carved  and  painted  and  gilded  ;  it  has  neither  rudder  nor 
benches;  you  are  seated  upon  a  carpet,  or  cushion,  so  that 
only  your  head  and  shoulders  appear  above  the  side  ;  it  is 
pointed  at  both  ends  so  as  to  be  able  to  move  in  either  direc- 
tion ;  it  loses  its  equilibrium  at  the  slightest  movement,  and 
darts  from  the  shore  like  an  arrow  from  the  bow,  seeming  to 
skim  the  water  like  a  swallow  ;  and  passing  everywhere,  it 
glides  and  flies,  its  many  colors  reflected  in  the  water  like  a 
dolphin  held  in  chase.  Our  two  rowers  were  handsome  young 
Turks,  bare  armed  and  legged,  with  blue  shirts,  wide  white 
trousers,  and  red  fezes  ;  two  bronzed  young  athletes  of  twenty, 
clean,  hardy  and  gay,  who  sent  the  boat  her  own  length  ahead 
at  every  stroke ;  we  passed  other  caiques  so  swiftly  as  scarcely 
to  distinguish  them  ;  flocks  of  ducks  went  by,  and  birds  flew 
over  our  heads ;  we  grazed  great  covered  barges  full  of  veiled 
women,  and  here  and  there  the  sea-weed  covered  everything. 
Seen  from  the  water  at  that  hour  the  city  presented  a  new 
aspect.  The  Asiatic  shore  was  invisible  because  of  the  curving 
roadstead ;  the  hill  of  the  Seraglio  closed  in  the  Golden  Horn, 


yo  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

making  it  like  a  long  lake ;  the  hills  of  the  opposing  shores 
seemed  gigantic,  and  Stamboul  in  the  remote  distance  melting 
into  soft  gradations  of  blue  and  grey  tints,  appeared  like  an 
enchanted  city,  lightly  floating  on  the  sea  and  lost  in  the  sky. 
The  caique  darted,  the  two  banks  fled  backward,  bay  succeeded 
bay,  grove  to  grove,  suburb  to  suburb ;  and  as  we  advanced 
everything  seemed  to  rise  and  grow  larger  before  us  ;  the 
colors  of  the  city  grew  faint,  the  horizon  flamed,  the  water  sent 
back  reflections  of  purple  and  gold,  and  the  amazed  spectator 
remained  mute  and  delighted  at  the  wondrous  spectacle.  When 
the  caique  stopped  at  Galata,  one  of  the  boatmen  had  to  yell — 
monsh  /  arrivar  1  in  our  ears,  before  we  wakened  from  our 
dream  and  stepped  on  shore. 


THE   GREAT  BAZAAR.  Jl 


THE    GREAT  BAZAAR. 

After  having  taken  a  rapid  flight  around  Constantinople, 
passing  both  shores  of  the  Golden  Horn,  it  is  time  to  enter  into 
the  heart  of  Stamboul,  and  see  that  universal  and  perpetual 
fair,  that  dark  and  hidden  city  full  of  marvels,  treasures,  and 
reminiscences,  which  extends  from  the  hill  of  Muri-Osmanle, 
to  that  of  the  Seraskierat,  and  is  called  the  Great  Bazaar. 

We  start  from  the  mosque  of  the  Sultana  Valide.  Here 
perhaps  some  epicurean  reader  would  wish  to  stop  and  give  a 
glance  at  the  Balik-Bazaar,  the  fish-market,  famous  in  the  time 
of  that  Andronicus  Paleologus,  who,  as  has  been  recorded, 
drew  from  the  fisheries  along  the  walls  of  the  city  alone,  enough 
to  meet  the  culinary  expenses  of  his  entire  court.  Fish,  indeed, 
is  still  most  abundant  at  Constantinople,  and  the  Balik-Bazaar 
in  its  best  days,  might  offer  to  the  author  of  the  Ventre  de  Paris* 
a  subject  for  a  pompous  and  appetizing  description,  like  the 
great  suppers  of  the  old  Dutch  pictures.  The  vendors  are 
almost  all  Turks,  and  stand  ranged  around  the  square,  with 
their  fish  piled  up  on  mats  spread  on  the  ground,  or  upon  long 
tables,  around  which  a  crowd  of  buyers  and  an  army  of  dogs, 
vociferate  and  yelp.  There  are  to  be  found  the  exquisite  mul- 
let of  the  Bosphorus,  four  times  as  large  as  those  in  our  waters ; 
oysters  from  the  island  of  Marmora,  which  only  Greeks  and  Ar- 
menians know  how  to  broil  to  a  point  upon  the  coals  ;  pilchards 
*   The  Belly  of  Paris,  book  of  that  name. 


72  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

and  tunny-fish  that  are  salted  almost  exclusively  by  the  Jews  ; 
anchovies,  which  the  Turks  have  learned  how  to  prepare  from 
the  people  of  Marseilles;  sardines,  with  which  Constantinople 
provides  the  Archipelago  ;  the  ulu/er,  the  most  highly  flavored 
fish  of  the  Bosphorus,  which  is  always  taken  by  moonlight ;  the 
mackerel  of  the  Black  Sea,  that  makes  seven  successive  inva- 
sions into  the  waters  of  the  city,  making  a  disturbance  ihat  is 
heard  far  and  wide  ;  colossal  isdaurids,  enormous  sword-fish, 
turbot,  and,  as  they  are  called  in  Turkey,  kalkan  baluk,  or 
shield-fish,  and  a  thousand  smaller  fishes,  that  dart  between 
the  two  seas,  followed  by  dolphins  and  falcione ;  and  chased  by 
innumerable  halcyons,  or  king-fishers.  Cooks  from  the  kitch- 
ens of  pashas,  old  Mussulman  bon-vivants,  slaves,  and  tavern- 
keepers,  approach  the  tables,  look  at  the  merchandise  with  a 
meditative  air,  make  their  bargains  in  monosyllables,  and  de- 
part with  their  purchase  dangling  by  a  string,  grave  and  taci- 
turn, as  if  they  bore  the  head  of  an  enemy  ;  at  noon  the  place 
is  empty,  and  the  vendors  are  all  dispersed  among  the  neigh- 
boring cafes,  where  they  stay  till  sunset,  dreaming  with  open 
eyes,  their  backs  against  the  wall,  and  a  narghile,  between  their 
lips. 

To  reach  the  great  Bazaar,  you  go  through  a  street  that  be- 
gins at  the  fish-market,  so  narrow  that  the  upper  stories  of  the 
houses  almost  touch  each  other,  and  lined  with  a  double  row  of 
low,  dark  shops,  where  tobacco  is  sold,  "  the  fourth  column  of 
the  canopy  of  voluptuousness,"  after  coffee,  opium,  and  wine,  or 
"the  fourth  sofa  of  enjoyment."  Like  coffee,  it  has  been  fulmi- 
nated in  its  time  by  edicts  of  the  Sultans,  and  sentences  of  the 
muftis,  and  has  been  the  cause  of  troubles  and  punishments  that 


THE   GREAT  BAZAAR.      '  73 

only  rendered  it  more  delicious.  The  entire  street  is  occupied  by 
tobacco-merchants.  The  tobacco  is  displayed  in  pyramids,  or 
round  masses,  each  one  surmounted  by  a  lemon.  There  is  the  lat- 
akiaoi  Antioch,  the  Seraglio  tobacco,  bland  and  fine  as  the  finest 
silk,  tobacco  for  cigarettes  and  for  the  chibouk,  of  all  grades  of 
strength  and  flavor,  from  that  smoked  by  the  gigantic  Galata 
porter,  to  that  in  use  by  the  idle  odalisque  of the  Imperial  kiosk. 
The  tombeki,  a  very  strong  tobacco  that  would  go  to  the  head  of 
the  oldest  and  most  seasoned  smoker,  if  its  fumes  did  not  reach 
the  lips  purified  by  the  water  of  the  narghile,  is  kept  in  closed 
glass  jars,  like  a  medicine.  The  tobacconists  are  almost  all 
Greeks  or  Armenians,  of  ceremonious  manners,  affecting  lordly 
airs  ;  the  customers  stand  in  groups  and  chat ;  here  you  may 
see  personages  from  the  different  ministries,  or  get  an  occasional 
nod  from  some  great  man  ;  politics,  the  last  bit  of  news,  the  last 
bit  of  scandal  are  discussed;  it  is  a  small,  private  and  aristo- 
cratic bazaar,  which  invites  to  repose,  and  even  in  passing,  gives 
forth  a  breath  of  the  pleasure  of  talk  and  smoke. 

Going  on,  you  pass  under  an  old  archway,  festooned  with 
vines,  and  arrive  in  front  of  a  vast  stone  edifice,  through  which 
runs  a  long,  straight,  covered  street,  flanked  by  dark  shops,  and 
crowded  with  people,  cases,  sacks,  and  heaps  of  merchandise. 
You  are  met  by  so  strong  an  odor  of  drugs  and  spices,  that  it 
almost  drives  you  backwards.  It  is  the  Egyptian  bazaar  wherein 
are  gathered  all  the  Indian,  Syrian,  Arabian,  and  Egyptian 
wares,  that  afterwards  reduced  to  essences,  pastes,  powders,  and 
unguents,  go  to  color  the  faces  and  figures  of  the  odalisques,  to 
perfume  rooms  and  baths  and  breaths  and  beards  and  dishes,  to 
reinvigorate  exhausted  pashas,  to  calm  unhappy  wives,  to  stupefy 
4 


74  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

smokers,  to  spread  dreams,  intoxication  and  forgetfulness  over 
the  interminable  city.  After  advancing  a  few  steps  you  begin 
to  feel  your  head  swim,  and  retreat;  but  the  sensation  of  that 
warm,  heavy  atmosphere,  and  those  inebriating  perfumes,  accom- 
panies you  into  the  outer  air,  and  remains  vivid  in  the  memory  as 
one  of  the  most  powerful  and  significant  impressions  of  the  East. 
Coming  out  from  the  Egyptian  bazaar,  the  way  passes 
through  a  street  of  noisy  coppersmiths,  Turkish  taverns  that 
fill  the  air  with  nauseous  smells,  and  a  thousand  little  black 
holes  of  shops,  where  are  manufactured  quantities  of  nameless 
objects,  and  finally  arrives  at  the  Great  Bazaar.  But  long  before 
reaching  it  you  are  assailed  and  have  to  defend  yourself.  At  a 
hundred  paces  from  the  great  entrance  gate  are  stationed  the 
sensale  or  middlemen,  like  so  many  bandits,  who  know  a  stran- 
ger at  the  first  glance,  have  at  once  divined  that  he  is  coming 
to  the  bazaar  for  the  first  time,  and  in  general  can  guess  pretty 
well  from  what  country  he  comes  and  in  what  language  to  ad- 
dress him.  They  advance  fez  in  hand  and  smilingly  offer  their 
services.     Then  follows  a  dialogue  something  like  this : 

"  I  am  not  going  to  buy  anything,"  says  the  stranger  hastily. 
"No  matter,  sir  ;  I  only  want  to  show  you  the  bazaar." 
"  I  don't  want  to  see  the  bazaar." 
"  But  I  do  not  ask  to  be  paid  for  it." 
"I  do  not  desire  to  have  your  services  for  nothing." 
"  Well,  then,  I  will  only  accompany  you  to  the  end  of  the 
street,  to  give  you  some  information  that  will  be  useful  when 
you  do  come  to  buy." 

"  But  suppose  I  do  not  wish  for  any  information  ?" 

"  Then  we  will  talk  of  other  things,  sir.     Have  you  come  to 


THE   GREAT  BAZAAR.  75 

Constantinople  for  the  first  time  ?  Are  you  satisfied  with  your 
hotel  ?     Have  you  got  a  permission  to  visit  the  mosques  ?" 

"  I  tell  you  that  I  do  not  wish  to  talk.     1  want  to  be  alone. " 

"  Well,  I  will  leave  you  alone  ;  I  will  only  follow  you  ten 
steps  behind." 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  follow  me  ?" 

u  To  prevent  you  from  being  cheated  in  the  shops." 

"  Suppose  I  do  not  go  into  the  shops  ?" 

"  Then,  to  prevent  you  from  being  annoyed  in  the  street." 
And  so  you  lose  your  breath,  and  are  obliged  to  resign  yourself 
to  his  companionship. 

The  Great  Bazaar  has  nothing  exteriorly  to  attract  the  eye, 
or  give  an  idea  of  its  contents.  It  is  an  immense  stone  edifice, 
of  Byzantine  architecture,  and  irregular  form,  surrounded  by 
high  grey  walls,  and  surmounted  by  hundreds  of  little  cupolas, 
covered  with  lead,  and  perforated  with  holes  to  give  light  to  the 
interior.  The  principal  entrance  is  an  arched  doorway  without 
architectural  character ;  no  noise  from  without  penetrates  it ; 
at  four  paces  from  the  door  you  can  still  believe  that  within 
those  fortress  walls  there  is  nothing  but  silence  and  solitude. 
But  once  inside  you  stand  bewildered.  It  is  not  an  edifice,  but 
a  labyrinth  of  arcaded  streets  flanked  by  sculptured  columns 
and  pilasters  ;  a  real  city,  with  its  mosques,  fountains,  cross- 
ways  and  squares,  dimly  lighted  like  a  thick  wood  into  which  no 
ray  of  sunlight  penetrates  ;  and  filled  by  a  dense  throng  of  peo- 
ple. Ever}'  street  is  a  bazaar,  almost  all  leading  out  of  one 
main  street,  with  an  arched  roof  of  black  and  white  stone,  and 
decorated  with  arabesques  like  the  nave  of  a  mosque.  In  this 
dimly  lighted  thoroughfare,  carriages,  horsemen,  and  camels  are 


/6  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

constantly  passing,  making  a  deafening  noise.  The  visitor  is 
apostrophized  on  all  sides  with  words  and  signs.  The  Greek 
merchants  call  out  in  loud  voices  and  use  imperious  gestures. 
The  Armenian,  quite  as  cunning,  but  more  humble  in  manner, 
solicits  obsequiously  ;  the  Jew  whispers  his  offers  in  your  ear ; 
the  silent  Turk,  seated  cross-legged  upon  his  carpet  at  the  en- 
trance of  his  shop,  invites  only  with  his  eye,  and  resigns  him- 
self to  destiny.  Ten  voices  at  once  address  you  ;  Monsieur  ! 
Captain  !  Caballero !  Signore  !  Eccellenza !  Kyrie  !  My  Lord  ! 
At  every  turn,  by  the  side  doors,  are  seen  perspectives  of  arches 
and  pilasters,  long  corridors,  narrow  alleys,  a  long  confused 
perspect  of  bazaar,  and  everywhere  shops,  merchandise  piled  up 
or  hanging  from  wall  and  ceiling,  busy  merchants,  loaded  por- 
ters, groups  of  veiled  women,  coming  and  going,  a  perpetual 
noise  of  people  and  things  enough  to  make  one  dizzy. 

The  confusion,  however,  is  only  apparent.  This  immense 
bazaar  is  ordered  like  a  barrack,  and  it  only  needs  an  hour  or 
two  to  enable  you  to  know  how  to  find  anything  you  want  with- 
out a  guide.  Every  kind  of  goods  has  its  own  particular  quar- 
ter, its  street,  its  corridor,  and  its  square,  or  piazeita.  There 
are  a  hundred  little  bazaars  contained  in  one  great  one,  and 
opening  one  into  the  other  like  the  rooms  of  a  vast  apartment ; 
and  each  bazaar  is  at  the  same  time  a  museum,  a  market,  and 
a  theatre,  where  you  may  look  at  all  without  buying  anything, 
take  coffee,  enjoy  the  coolness,  chatter  in  ten  languages,  and 
make  eyes  at  the  prettiest  women  in  the  Orient. 

You  may  linger  a  whole  day  in  one  bazaar,  unconscious  of 
the  flight  of  time  ;  for  example,  the  bazaar  of  stuffs,  and  cloth- 
ing.    It  is  an  emporium  of  beauty  and  riches  enough  to  ruin 


THE   GREAT  BAZAAR.  .  JJ 

your  eyes,  your  brains,  and  your  pocket ;  and  you  must  be  on 
your  guard,  for  a  caprice  might  bring  upon  you  the  consequence 
of  sending  for  help  by  telegraph.  You  walk  in  the  midst  of 
towering  heaps  of  brocades  from  Bagdad,  carpets  from  Cara- 
mania,  silks  from  Broussa,  linens  from  Hindustan,  muslins  from 
Bengal,  shawls  from  Madras,  cachemeres  from  India  and  Per- 
sia, many  tinted  tissues  from  Cairo  ;  cushions  arabesqued  in 
gold,  silken  veils  woven  with  silver  stripes,  scarfs  of  gauze  in 
blue  and  crimson,  so  light  and  transparent  that  they  seem  like 
sunset  clouds  ;  stuffs  of  every  kind  and  every  design,  in  which 
red,  blue,  green,  yellow,  colors  the  most  rebellious  to  sym- 
pathetic combination,  are  brought  together  and  interwoven, 
with  a  happy  audacity  and  harmony,  that  makes  one  stand  in 
open-mouthed  wonder  ;  table-covers  of  all  sizes,  with  red  or 
white  grounds  embroidered  all  over  with  arabesques,  flowers, 
verses  from  the  Koran,  and  imperial  ciphers,  worthy  of  being 
admired  for  hours,  like  the  walls  of  the  Alhambra.  Here  may 
be  found,  one  by  one,  each  separate  part  of  the  Turkish  lady's 
dress;  from  the  mantle  green,  orange,  or  purple,  that  covers 
the  whole  person,  down  to  the  silken  chemise,  the  gold-embroi- 
dered kerchief,  and  the  satin  girdle,  on  which  no  eye  of  man  is 
permitted  to  fall,  save  that  of  the  husband  or  the  eunuch. 
Here  are  caftans  of  crimson  velvet,  bordered  with  ermine,  and 
covered  with  stars ;  corsets  of  yellow  satin,  trousers  of  rose- 
colored  silk,  under-vests  of  white  damask  embroidered  with 
golden  flowers,  bride- veils  sparkling  with  silver  spangles  ;  green 
cloth  jackets  trimmed  with  swans-down ;  Greek,  Armenian, 
and  Circassian  garments,  of  the  oddest  shapes,  overloaded 
with  ornament,  hard  and  splendid  like  a  cuirass  ;  and  with  all 


yS  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

this,  the  prosaic  stuffs  of  France  and  England,  of  dull  colors, 
reminding  one  of  a  tailor's  bill  among  the  verses  of  a  poem. 
No  one  who  loves  a  lady  can  pass  through  this  bazaar  without 
cursing  fate  that  has  not  made  him  a  millionaire,  or  without 
feeling  his  soul  on  fire  with  the  fury  of  sack  and  pillage. 

To  get  rid  of  this  temptation,  one  has  only  to  turn  into  the 
pipe-bazaar.  Here  the  imagination  is  led  into  calmer  paths  of 
desire.  The  eye  dwells  fondly  upon  bundles  of  chibouks,  with 
sticks  of  cherry,  jasmine,  maple  and  rosewood  ;  mouth-pieces 
of  yellow  amber  from  the  Baltic,  polished  and  lustrous  as  crys- 
tal, set  with  rubies  and  diamonds,  and  of  many  shades  of 
color;  pipes  from  Cesaria,  their  stems  bound  with  threads  of 
silk  and  gold  ;  tobacco  pouches  from  the  Lebanon,  lozenged  in 
various  colors,  and  splendidly  embroidered  in  arabesques ; 
narghiles  from  Bohemia,  of  steel,  silver,  and  crystal,  of  beauti- 
ful antique  shapes,  damascened,  carved,  encrusted  with  precious 
stones,  with  morocco  tubes  sparkling  with  golden  rings ; 
wrapped  in  cotton,  and  perpetually  watched  by  two  fixed  eyes, 
that  at  the  approach  of  any  curious  looker  on,  dilate  like  the 
eyes  of  an  owl,  and  stifle  on  the  lip  the  question  as  to  price  ; 
that  is  of  any  one  who  is  not  at  least  a  vizier,  or  a  pasha  who 
has  been  governing  for  a  year  a  province  in  Asia  Minor.  Here 
comes  to  buy,  the  messenger  from  the  Sultana,  who  desires  to 
make  a  grateful  present  to  the  docile  Grand-Vizier  ;  or  that 
high  dignitary  of  the  court,  lately  inducted  into  a  new  office, 
and  constrained,  for  the  sake  of  decorum,  to  spend  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  in  a  rack  full  of  pipes ;  or  one  of  the  Sultan's  am- 
bassadors, who  desires  to  carry  to  some  European  monarch  a 
splendid  memorial  of  Stamboul.     The  modest  Turk  gives  a 


THE   GREAT  BAZAAR.  79 

glance  and  passes  by,  paraphrasing  for  his  consolation  the  sen- 
tence of  the  Prophet ; — "  The  fires  of  hell  shall  war  like  the 
growl  of  a  camel  in  the  belly  of  him  who  smokes  in  a  pipe  of  gold 
or  silver"  From  this,  one  falls  again  into  temptation  upon  en- 
tering the  bazaar  of  perfumery,  which  is  one  of  the  most  com- 
pletely Oriental,  and  dear  to  the  Prophet,  who  said  : — "  Women, 
children,  and  perfumes  " — naming  his  three  most  beloved 
pleasures.  Here  are  found  the  famous  Seraglio  pastilles,  for 
perfuming  kisses,  the  capsules  of  odoriferous  gum  which  the 
robust  girls  of  Chio  make  for  the  reinforcement  of  the  mouths 
of  the  soft  Turkish  ladies ;  the  exquisite  essences  of  jasmine 
and  bergamot,  and  that  most  potent  essence  of  roses,  shut  in 
cases  of  gold-embroidered  velvet,  and  of  prices  to  make  your 
hair  stand  on  end ;  here  is  kohl  for  the  brows  and  lashes,  anti- 
mony for  the  eyes,  henna  for  the  finger  tips,  soaps  that  soften 
the  skin  of  the  lovely  Syrians,  pills  that  cause  the  hair  to  fall 
from  the  faces  of  Circassian  men,  citron  and  orange  waters, 
little  bags  of  musk,  oil  of  sandal  wood,  grey  amber,  aloes  to 
perfume  pipes  and  coffee  cups,  a  myriad  of  powders,  waters  and 
pomades  ;  of  fantastic  names  and  mysterious  uses,  that  each 
represents  an  amorous  caprice,  a  purpose  of  seduction,  a  refine- 
ment of  voluptuousness,  and  that  all  together,  diffuse  an  acute 
and  sensual  fragrance,  which  invokes  a  vision  of  languid  eyes 
and  caressing  hands,  and  a  suppressed  murmur  as  of  sighs  and 
kisses. 

These  fancies  all  vanish  as  you  enter  the  jewellers'  bazaar, 
a  dark,  deserted  alley,  flanked  by  mean  looking  shops,  in  which 
no  one  would  dream  what  fabulous  treasures  there  lie  hid.  The 
jewels  are  shut  up  in  oaken  coffers,  bound  and  plated  with  iron, 


SO  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

and  placed  in  front  of  the  shops  immediately  under  the  .eyes  of 
the  merchant :  old  Turks,  or  old  Jews  with  long  beards,  whose 
piercing  eyes  seem  to  penetrate  to  the  very  bottom  of  your 
purse  and  pocket.  Sometimes  one  of  them  stands  erect  in  his 
doorway,  and  as  you  pass  before  him,  he  first  fixes  his  eye  in- 
tently upon  yours,  and  then  with  a  rapid  gesture  holds  up  be- 
fore you  a  diamond  from  Golconda,  or  a  sapphire  from  Ormus, 
or  a  ruby  from  Gramschid,  and  at  the  slightest  negative  sign  on 
your  part,  withdraws  it  with  the  same  rapidity  as  he  presented 
it.  Others  pass  by  with  lingering  step,  stop  you  in  the  middle 
of  the  street,  and  after  having  cast  a  suspicious  glance  around, 
draw  from  their  breast  a  dirty  rag,  and  unfolding  it,  display  a 
fine  Brazilian  topaz,  or  a  beautiful  Macedonian  turquoise,  look- 
ing in  your  eyes  the  while  with  a  demoniacal  glance  of  tempta- 
tion. Others  give  you  a  scrutinizing  glance,  and  not  judging 
you  worthy,  do  not  deign  to  offer  their  precious  wares.  Not 
one  makes  a  motion  to  open  the  coffer,  even  if  you  have  the 
face  of  a  saint,  or  the  air  of  a  Caesar.  The  necklaces  of  opals, 
the  flowers  and  stars  of  emeralds,  the  crescents  and  diadems 
set  with  pearls  of  Ophir,  the  dazzling  heaps  of  aquamarines 
and  chrysopaz  ;  of  agates,  garnets,  and  lapis  lazuli,  these  re- 
main inexorably  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  the  impecunious  spec- 
tator, and  more  especially  from  those  of  an  Italian  scribbler. 
The  utmost  that  he  may  dare  is  to  ask  the  price  of  some 
rosary  of  amber,  coral,  or  sandal-wood,  to  run  through  his 
fingers  in  Turkish  fashion,  and  cheat  the  time  in  the  intervals 
of  his  labors. 

It  is  amusing  to  go  into  the  shops  of  the  Frank  merchants 
where  there  are  things  to  suit  all  purses.     You  have  scarcely 


THE   GREAT  BAZAAR.  8 1 

entered  before  you  are  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  people  sprung 
from  you  cannot  tell  where.  It  is  not  possible  to  deal  with  one 
person  alone.  What  with  shopkeepers,  and  their  partners,  mid- 
dlemen, and  all  the  hangers  on  of  each,  there  are  always  half  a 
dozen.  If  you  escape  one,  you  are  sure  to  fall  into  the  claws 
of  the  other  ;  and  there  is  no  help  for  you ;  and  it  is  incredible, 
the  artfulness,  the  patience,  the  obstinacy,  the  diabolical  as- 
tuteness which  they  display  in  making  you  buy  what  they 
please.  They  begin  by  asking  an  absurd  price  ;  you  offer  one 
third  ;  they  drop  their  arms  in  sign  of  profound  discouragement, 
or  strike  their  foreheads  with  a  gesture  of  despair,  and  make  no 
reply  ;  or  else  they  burst  into  a  torrent  of  passionate  words  in- 
tended to  touch  your  heart.  You  are  a  cruel  man,  you  want 
to  make  them  shut  up  their  shop,  you  want  to  reduce  them  to 
misery,  you  have  no  pity  on  their  children,  they  cannot  under- 
stand what  they  have  done  to  be  treated  in  such  a  manner. 
While  one  is  naming  the  price  of  an  object,  a  sensale,  (middle- 
man, or  touter)  from  a  neighboring  shop,  whispers  in  your  ear: 
— "  Do  not  buy — they  are  cheating  you."  You  think  he  is  sin- 
cere, but  he  is  really  playing  into  the  hands  of  your  merchant ; 
he  tells  you  that  they  are  cheating  you  in  the  shawl  only  to 
gain  your  confidence,  and  pick  your  pocket  the  next  minute  by 
advising  you  to  buy  the  table-cover  or  carpet.  While  you  are 
examining  the -stuff;  they  are  exchanging  signs,  winks,  and 
whispers.  If  you  know  Greek,  they  speak  Turkish  ;  if  you 
know  that,  they  speak  Armenian  5  if  you  understand  Armenian, 
they  speak  Spanish  ;  but  in  one  way  or  another  they  are  cer- 
tain to  get  the  better  of  you.  If  you  are  hard  to  convince,  they 
flatter  you  j  tell  you  that  you  speak  their  language  admirably, 
4* 


82  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

that  you  have  the  air  of  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  that  they 
never  can  forget  your  handsome  face ;  they  talk  of  your  coun- 
try, where  they  have  been  ;  because  they  have  been  everywhere ; 
they  give  you  coffee,  and  offer  to  accompany  you  to  the  cus- 
tom-house when  you  leave,  to  prevent  extortion ;  in  reality  to 
cheat  you,  the  custom-house,  and  your  travelling  companions, 
if  you  have  any;  they  turn  the  whole  shop  upside  down,  and 
are  not  at  all  put  out  if  you  buy  nothing  ;  if  not  that  day  you 
will  buy  some  other  day  ;  you  are  sure  to  come  to  the  bazaar 
and  their  hunting-dogs  will  find  you  out ;  if  you  do  not  fall 
into  their  hands,  you  will  fall  into  those  of  their  associates  ; 
if  they  do  not  fleece  you  as  merchants,  they  will  skin  you  as 
sensale ;  if  they  do  not  settle  you  in  the  shop,  they  will  finish 
you  at  the  custom-house ;  in  some  way  they  are  sure  to  have 
you.  To  what  people  do  these  belong?  No  one  knows.  By 
dint  of  talking  in  every  language  they  have  lost  their  primitive 
accent ;  by  dint  of  acting  comedy  all  day  long,  they  have 
changed  the  physiognomical  features  of  their  race ;  they  are  of 
any  country  they  please  for  the  moment,  they  follow  any  trade 
they  choose,  interpreters,  guides,  merchants,  usurers ;  and 
above  all  things,  artists  incomparable  in  the  art  of  cheating 
the  universe. 

The  Mussulman  merchants  offer  a  very  different  field  of 
observation.  Among  them  are  still  to  be  found  those  old 
Turks,  now  rare  in  the  streets  of  Constantinople,  who  are  like 
personifications  of  the  times  of  the  Mahomets  and  Bajazets  ; 
the  living  remains  of  that  old  Ottoman  edifice  that  first  began 
to  crumble  under  the  reforms  of  Mahmoud,  and  that  day  by 
day,  stone  by  stone,  is  falling  into  ruin  and  change.     Go  to  the 


THE   GREA  T  BAZAAR.  83 

great  bazaar  and  gaze  into  the  dark  depths  of  the  little  dark 
shops  in  the  more  distant  streets,  and  there  you  will  find  the 
enormous  old  turbans  of  Soliman's  time,  shaped  like  the 
cupola  of  a  mosque ;  the  impassive  faces,  with  glazed  eyes, 
hooked  noses,  and  long  white  beards ;  the  antique  caftans, 
orange  colored  and  purple,  the  great  trousers  of  a  thousand 
pletes,  bound  round  the  body  with  immeasurable  sashes ;  the 
haughty  and  grave  demeanor  of  the  ancient  dominating  race, 
their  faces  dulled  by  opium,  or  glowing  with  a  sentiment  of 
ardent  religious  faith.  They  are  there  at  the  bottom  of  their 
dark  shops,  with  folded  arms  and  crossed  legs,  motionless  and 
grave  as  images,  awaiting  in  silence  the  coming  of  the  predes- 
tined purchaser.  If  things  go  well,  they  murmur — Mashallah  / 
— Praised  be  God  ! — if  they  go  ill — Olsun ! — so  must  it  be! — 
and  resign  themselves  to  destiny.  Some  are  reading  the  Koran, 
others  pass  between  their  fingers  the  beads  of  their  rosaries, 
listlessly  muttering  the  hundred  epithets  of  Allah ;  others,  who 
have  completed  some  good  bargain,  drink  their  narghile,  as  the 
Turkish  expression  has  it,  turning  their  eyes  about  slowly  with 
a  sleepy,  voluptuous  look  ;  and  still  others  sit  drooping  forward, 
with  half-closed  eyes,  and  corrugated  brows,  as  if  in  profound 
thought.  What  are  they  thinking  of?  Perhaps  of  their  sons 
dead  under  the  walls  of  Sebastopol,  or  of  their  caravans  dis- 
persed, or  of  their  lost  pleasures,  or  of  the  gardens  of  eternity 
promised  by  the  Prophet,  where  under  the  shade  of  palms  and 
pomegranate  trees,  they  shall  espouse  the  stainless  dark-eyed 
houris. 

Every  one  of  them  is  odd  and  picturesque  in  his  own  way ; 
every  shop  door  is  the  frame  of  a  picture  full  of  color  and  fancy, 


84  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

that  fills  the  mind  with  stories  of  adventure  and  romance. 
That  thin,  bronzed  man  with  the  bold  features,  is  an  Arab,  who 
himself  drove  from  his  own  distant  country,  his  camels  laden 
with  gems  and  alabaster,  and  has  more  than  once  heard  the 
whistle  of  the  bullets  of  the  desert  robbers.  This  other,  in  the 
yellow  turban,  and  with  a  lordly  bearing,  has  crossed  on  horse- 
back the  solitudes  of  Syria,  bringing  silk  from  Tyre  and  Sidon. 
This  black  statue  with  his  head  wrapped  in  an  old  Persian 
shawl,  and  his  forehead  seamed  with  scars,  made  by  the  necro- 
mancers to  save  him  from  death,  who  holds  his  head  high,  as 
if  he  still  beheld  the  Colossus  of  Thebes  and  the  tops  of  the 
Pyramids,  has  come  from  Nubia.  That  handsome  Moor  with 
pallid  face  and  deep  black  eyes,  wrapped  in  a  snow-white  man- 
tle, has  brought  his  carpets  from  the  uttermost  western  spur  of 
the  chain  of  Atlas.  The  Turk  in  the  green  turban  with  the 
attenuated  visage  has  but  just  returned  from  the  great  pilgrim- 
age, where  he  has  seen  his  friends  die  of  thirst  in  the  intermi- 
nable plains  of  Asia  Minor,  and  arriving  at  Mecca  almost  dead, 
dragged  himself  seven  times  around  the  Kaaba,  and  fell  fainting 
as  he  covered  the  Black  Stone  with  ardent  kisses.  The  giant 
with  a  white  face,  arched  eyebrows,  and  fiery  eyes,  who  looks 
more  like  a  warrior  than  a  merchant,  and  whose  whole  being  is 
full  of  pride  and  ambition,  has  brought  his  furs  from  the  north- 
ern regions  of  the  Caucasus,  where  in  his  younger  days  he  has 
struck  many  a  Cossack's  head  from  his  shoulders;  and  this 
poor  wool  merchant,  with  his  flat  face,  and  small  oblique  eyes, 
muscular  and  hard  as  an  athlete,  it  is  not  long  since  he  said  his 
prayer  under  the  shadow  of  the  immense  dome  that  surmounts 
the  sepulchre  of  Timour ;  he  started  from  Samarkand,  crossed 


THE   GREAT  BAZAAR.  85 

the  deserts  of  Bulgaria,  passed  through  herds  of  Turkomans, 
crossed  the  Dead  Sea,  escaped  the  bullets  of  the  Circassians, 
gave  thanks  to  Allah  in  the  Mosque  of  Trebizond,  and  came 
to  seek  his  fortune  at  Stamboul,  whence  he  will  return,  an  old 
man,  to  his  beloved  Tartary,  which  he  holds  ever  in  his  heart. 

One  of  the  most  splendid  bazaars  is  that  for  shoes,  and  it  is 
perhaps  the  one  that  is  most  tempting.  There  is  a  double  row 
of  glittering  shops,  making  the  street  look  like  a  royal  hall,  or 
like  one  of  those  gardens  of  the  Arabian  tales,  where  the  trees 
have  golden  leaves  and  flowers  of  pearl.  There  are  enough 
slippers  to  cover  all  the  little  feet  of  all  the  courts  of  Asia  and 
Europe.  The  walls  are  tapestried  with  slippers,  in  velvet,  in 
fur,  in  brocade,  in  satin,  of  the  most  startling  colors  and  the 
most  capricious  form,  ornamented  with  filagree,  glittering  with 
tinsel  spangles,  trimmed  with  swans-down  and  ravelled  silk,  em- 
broidered with  flowers  in  gold  and  silver,  covered  with  intricate 
arabesques  that  hide  the  material,  and  sparkling  with  precious 
stones.  There  are  shoes  for  the  boatman's  wife  and  for  the 
Sultan's  ladies,  ranging  from  five  francs  to  one  thousand  francs 
a  pair.  There  is  the  morocco  shoe  destined  to  walk  upon  the 
stony  ways  of  Pera,  and  the  slipper  that  will  be  shuffled  over 
the  carpets  of  the  harem,  the  patten  that  will  resound  upon  the 
marbles  of  the  imperial  baths ;  and  exquisite  things  in  white 
satin  and  pearls  fit  only  for  the  bride  of  the  Grand  Seigneur. 
But  where  are  the  feet  that  can  get  into  them  ?  There  are 
some  that  appear  to  have  been  designed  for  houris  or  fairies  ; 
about  as  long  as  a  lily  leaf,  small  enough  to  cause  the  despair 
of  an  Andalusian,  and  pretty  enough  to  dream  about ;  works 
of  art  to  keep  upon  your  table  ;  boxes  to  keep  sugar  plums  and 


S6  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

love  letters  in.  This  bazaar  is  one  of  the  most  frequented  by 
foreigners.  Young  men  from  Europe  are  to  be  seen  there, 
having  in  their  hand  a  bit  of  paper  containing  the  measure  of  the 
length  of  some  dear  French  or  Italian  foot  of  whose  smallness 
they  are  proud,  and  who  make  gestures  of  annoyance  or  despair, 
when  they  discover  how  much  it  surpasses  in  length  some  tiny 
slipper  on  which  they  have  set  their  heart ;  and  others,  who 
asking  the  price,  and  hearing  a  shot,  fly  without  a  word.  Here 
also  come  to  purchase,  the  Mussulman  ladies,  the  hanums  in 
great  white  veils,  and  now  and  then  one  can  catch  a  fragment 
of  their  long  dialogues  with  the  merchant,  some  harmonious 
words  of  their  beautiful  language,  pronounced  in  clear,  sweet 
voices  that  caress  the  ear  like  the  sound  of  a  musical  instru- 
ment. 

Bum  catsria  verersia  ? — How  much  is  this  ? — Paballi  dir. — ■ 
It  is  too  much. — Ziade  veremtm. — I  will  not  pay  more.  And  then 
a  girlish  and  sonorous  laugh  that  makes  one  want  to  pinch  their 
cheeks  and  chuck  them  under  the  chin. 

The  richest  and  most  picturesque  of  all  is  the  Bazaar  of 
Arms.  It  is  a  real  museum,  full  of  treasures,  the  sight  of  which 
carries  the  imagination  into  the  regions  of  legendary  story  and 
excites  an  indescribable  sentiment  of  wonder  and  dismay.  All 
the  strongest,  most  frightful,  and  crudest  weapons  that  have 
ever  been  brandished  in  defence  of  Islam,  from  Mecca  to  the 
Danube,  are  there,  bright  and  sharp,  as  if  they  had  but  just  left 
the  hands  of  the  fierce  fanatical  soldiery  of  Mahomet  or  Selim  ; 
and  one  can  almost  see  glittering  among  them  the  blood-shot, 
fiery  eyes  of  those  formidable  Sultans,  those  ferocious  janissa- 
ries, fearless   and  pitiless,  who  scattered  blood  and  fire  over 


THE   GREAT  BAZAAR.  87 

Asia  Minor  and  Europe.  There  are  to  be  found  those  famous 
scimetars  that  could  sever  a  feather  in  the  air,  and  slice  off  the 
ears  of  an  insolent  ambassador ;  those  formidable  cangiars  that 
at  one  blow  could  split  a  man  from  head  to  heart ;  those  maces 
that  have  crushed  Servian  and  Hungarian  helmets  ;  yataghans 
with  handles  of  carved  ivory,  incrusted  with  amethysts  and  ru- 
bies, on  whose  blades  can  still  be  seen  graven  the  number  of 
the  heads  they  have  served  to  cut  off;  daggers  with  silver,  vel- 
vet, and  satin  sheaths,  and  handles  of  agate  and  ivory,  set  with 
garnets,  coral,  and  turquoises,  inscribed  with  verses  from  the 
Koran  in  letters  of  gold,  and  with  curved  and  contorted  blades 
that  look  as  if  they  were  searching  for  a  heart.  Who  knows 
but  that  in  this  terrible  armory  there  does  not  lurk  the  scimetar 
of  Orcano,  or  the  wooden  sabre  with  which  the  powerful  arm 
of  Abd  el-Murad,  the  warrior  dervise,  sheared  off  a  head  at  one 
blow ;  or  the  famous  yataghan  that  Sultan  Moussa  used  when 
he  clove  Hassan  from  his  shoulder  to  his  waist;  or  the  enor- 
mous sabre  of  that  Bulgarian  giant  who  planted  the  first  ladder 
against  the  wall  of  Constantinople ;  or  the  mace  with  which 
Mahomet  the  Second  struck  dead  the  rapacious  soldier  under 
the  dome  of  Saint  Sophia ;  or  the  great  Damascus  blade  that 
served  Iskandu  Beg  when  he  cut  Feronz-Pasha  in  two  below 
the  walls  of  Stetigrad  ?  The  most  slashing  blows  and  the  most 
horrible  deaths  in  all  Ottoman  history  rise  before  the  imagina- 
tion, and  one  seems  to  see  those  weapons  still  dripping  with 
blood,  and  imagine  that  the  old  Turks  in  the  shops  have  no 
doubt  gathered  up  arms  and  corpses  upon  the  very  field  of  the 
struggle,  and  now  keep  the  skeletons  hidden  in  some  dark  cor- 
ner.   Among  the  arms  may  be  seen  also  those  great  saddles  of 


88  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

blue  and  crimson  velvet,  embroidered  with  stars  and  crescents 
in  gold  and  pearls,  with  plumed  frontals,  and  inlaid  silver  bits, 
and  bronzings  splendid  as  royal  mantles ;  things  out  of  the 
"  Arabian  Nights  "  made  for  the  entrance  of  a  king  of  the  genii 
into  a  city  of  dreams.  Above  these  treasures  are  suspended 
ancient  muskets  with  flint  and  wheel,  great  Albanian  pistols, 
long  Arab  guns,  worked  like  jewels,  antique  shields  of  tortoise 
shell  and  hippopotamus  hide,  Circassian  mail,  Cossack  targes, 
Mongol  helmets,  Turcoman  bows,  creatimers  knives,  horrid 
blades  of  sinister  forms,  every  one  of  which  seems  the  revelation 
of  a  crime,  and  makes  one  think  of  the  contortions  of  the  death 
agony.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  threatening  and  magnificent 
array  sit  cross-legged  the  most  unadulterated  Turks  in  all  the 
Great  Bazaar,  for  the  most  part  old,  of  a  dreary  aspect,  lean  as 
anchorites  and  haughty  as  Sultans,  figures  of  a  past  age,  dressed 
in  the  fashion  of  the  first  Hegira,  looking  as  if  they  had  been 
resuscitated  and  called  from  the  sepulchre  to  reclaim  their  un- 
worthy descendants  back  to  the  austerity  of  the  antique  race. 

Another  bazaar  to  be  seen  is  the  old  clothes  bazaar.  Here 
Rembrandt  would  have  elected  his  domicile  and  Goya  would 
have  spent  his  last peceta.  Who  has  not  seen  an  Eastern  old- 
clothes  shop  can  never  imagine  what  extravagance  of  rags, 
what  pomp  of  color,  what  irony  of  contrast,  what  a  spectacle 
at  once  dreary,  filthy,  and  carnivalesque  is  presented  by  the 
bazaar,  this  common  sewer  of  rags,  in  which  all  the  refuse  of 
harems,  barracks,  courts,  theatres,  come  to  await  the  caprice  of 
a  painter,  or  the  need  of  a  mender  of  old  clothes  to  drag  them 
to  the  light  of  day.  From  long  poles  inserted  in  the  walls  dan- 
gle old  Turkish  uniforms,  swallow-tailed  jackets,  lordly  dol- 


THE   GREAT  BAZAAR.  89 

mans,  tunics  of  dervises,  Bedouin  cloaks,  all  in  rags  and  fringes 
and  tatters,  looking  as  if  they  had  been  pierced  by  a  thousand 
poniards,  and  reminding  one  of  the  sinister  spoils  that  are  to 
be  seen  upon  the  tables  of  the  assize  courts.  Among  these 
rags  glitter  here  and  there  a  bit  of  gold  embroidery,  and  old 
silken  girdles,  turbans  loosed  from  their  folds,  rich  shawls  in 
tatters,  velvet  bodices  whence  the  pearls  have  been  stripped 
perhaps  by  the  hand  of  a  robber,  drawers  and  veils  that  may 
have  belonged  to  some  faithless  beauty  who  now  sleeps  in  a 
sack  at  the  bottom  of  the  Bosphorus,  and  other  women's  gar- 
ments of  delicate  colors  and  texture,  hung  among  coarse  Cir- 
cassian caftans,  long,  black  Jewish  gowns,  and  rusty  cassocks, 
that  may  have  once  hidden  the  bandit's  gun,  or  the  cut-throat's 
dagger.  Towards  evening,  in  the  mysterious  light  that  falls 
from  the  holes  pierced  in  the  vaulted  ceiling,  all  these  pendent 
garments  take  on  the  appearance  of  bodies  of  hanged  people; 
and  when  in  the  darkness  behind,  you  detect  the  glittering  eyes 
of  some  old  Jew,  scratching  his  forehead  with  his  crooked  fin- 
gers, you  think,  there  is  the  hand  that  tightened  the  cords,  and 
you  give  a  glance  to  see  if  the  outer  door  is  open. 

One  day  is  not  sufficient  if  you  wish  to  see  all  the  ins  and 
outs  of  this  strange  place.  There  is  the  fez  bazaar,  where  are 
sold  fezes  from  every  country,  from  Morocco  to  Vienna,  orna- 
mented with  inscriptions  from  the  Koran  that  keep  off  evil  spir- 
its ;  the  fez  which  the  beautiful  Greek  wears  upon  the  top  of 
her  head,  above  the  knot  of  her  black  tresses  braided  with  coins  ; 
the  red  skull  cap  of  the  Turkish  women  ;  soldiers',  generals', 
Sultans',  dandies'  fezes  of  all  shades  of  red  and  of  all  shapes, 
from  those  of  the  earliest  primitive  time    up  to  the  large  and 


90  C0XSTANT1N0PLE. 

elegant  fez  of  Sultan  Mahmoud,  emblem  of  reforms,  and  the 
abomination  of  all  old  Mussulmans.  There  is  the  fur  bazaar, 
where  can  be  found  the  sacred  skin  of  the  black  fox,  which  once 
could  only  be  worn  by  the  Sultan  and  his  Grand  Vizier  ;  marten 
fur,  with  which  the  richest  caftans  are  lined  ;  white  bear  and 
black  bear,  blue  fox,  astrakan,  ermine,  and  ribelline  in  which 
the  Sultans  used  to  spend  fabulous  sums.  Then  there  is  the 
cutlers'  bazaar,  which  should  be  visited,  if  only  to  see  and  han- 
dle a  pair  of  those  enormous  Turkish  scissors,  whose  bronzed 
and  gilded  blades,  adorned  with  fantastic  designs  of  birds  and 
flowers,  cross  each  other  in  the  most  ferocious  manner,  leaving 
a  space  into  which  might  be  thrust  the  head  of  a  malignant 
critic.  There  is  the  bazaar  of  the  gold-thread  makers,  that  of 
the  embroiderers,  and  many  others,  all  different  in  form  and  gra- 
dations of  light,  but  all  alike  in  one  respect,  that  no  woman  is 
ever  seen  to  be  at  work  in  any  one  of  them.  The  nearest  ap- 
proach to  it  is  perhaps  some  Greek  woman,  who,  seated  for  a 
moment  before  a  tailor's  counter,  timidly  offers  you  a  handker- 
chief which  she  has  just  finished  embroidering.  Oriental  jeal- 
ousy interdicts  shop-keeping  to  the  fair  sex,  as  a  school  for  co- 
quetry and  intrigue. 

But  there  are  still  other  parts  of  the  Great  Bazaar  where  a 
stranger  can  not  venture,  unaccompanied  by  a  merchant  or  a 
sensale  ;  and  these  are  the  interior  portions  of  the  small  quarters 
into  which  this  singular  city  is  divided,  little  islands  about 
which  run  the  crowded  streets.  If  it  is  difficult  not  to  lose  one's- 
self  in  the  street,  it  is  impossible  in  these  places.  From  corri- 
dors but  little  wider  than  a  man  and  so  low  that  you  can  scarce 
walk  upright,  you  grope  your  way  clown  some  wooden  steps, 


THE   GREA  T  BAZAAR.  91 

pass  through  other  courts  lighted  by  lanterns,  descend  below 
the  surface  of  the  ground,  emerge  again  into  daylight,  walk  with 
bent  head  through  long  winding  passages,  under  damp  vaults, 
between  black  walls  and  dirty  wooden  partitions,  which  lead  to 
secret  doors  by  which  you  find  yourself  unexpectedly  at  the 
point  whence  you  started  ;  and  everywhere  you  see  shadows 
coming  and  going,  motionless  spectral  figures  standing  in  cor- 
ners, people  moving  merchandise  or  counting  money;  lights 
appear  and  disappear,  voices  and  hurried  steps  resound  from 
you  know  not  where  ;  black  objects  obstruct  your  path,  strange 
gleams  of  light,  and  unknown  odors  assail  your  senses,  until 
you  feel  as  if  you  were  wandering  in  some  enchanted  cavern, 
and  were  doomed  to  wander  there  forever. 

In  general  the  sensale  take  strangers  through  these  places  in 
order  to  conduct  them  to  those  out  of  the  way  shops  where  a 
little  of  everything  is  sold ;  a  kind  of  grand  bazaar  in  minia- 
ture, a  sort  of  superior  second-hand  shops,  very  curious  to  see, 
but  most  perilous  for  the  purse,  for  they  contain  such  rare  and 
curious  things  that  avarice  incarnate  can  not  resist  them. 
These  merchants  in  a  little  of  every  thing,  passed  rascals  and 
cheats,  be  it  understood,  and  polyglot  like  all  their  kind,  have  a 
certain  dramatic  way  of  carrying  on  their  temptations  that  is 
most  amusing,  and  rarely  fails  in  its  purpose.  Their  shops  are 
almost  all  small  and  dark,  and  full  of  presses  and  cases  ;  lights 
are  always  burning  in  them,  and  there  is  scarcely  room  enough 
to  stand.  After  having  shown  you  some  small  matter  in  carved 
ivory  and  mother-of-pearl,  some  Chinese  cup,  or  Japanese  vase, 
the  merchant  says  that  he  has  something  specially  for  you,  and 
draws  forth  a  casket   whence  he  turns  out  upon  the  table  a 


92  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

quantity  of  objects  ;  a  fan  of  peacocks'  feathers,  a  bracelet  of 
old  Turkish  coins,  a  little  camels'  hair  cushion  with  the  Sultan's 
cipher  embroidered  in  gold,  a  little  Persian  mirror  painted  with 
scenes  from  the  book  of  paradise ;  a  tortoise  shell  spoon  with 
which  the  Turks  eat  preserved  cherries  ;  an  old  ribbon  of  the 
order  of  the  Osmanli.  There  is  nothing  here  that  pleases 
you?  He  opens  another  casket,  and  this  time  there  is  no 
doubt  that  it  is  for  you  only.  There  is  a  broken  elephant's 
tusk,  a  Trebizond  bracelet  that  looks  as  if  it  were  made  out  of 
a  tress  of  silver  hair,  a  little  Japanese  idol,  a  sandal  wood  comb 
from  Mecca,  a  large  Turkish  spoon  carved  in  open  work  and 
inlaid,  an  antique  narghile  in  silver  gilt,  with  an  inscription, 
bits  of  mosaic  from  Saint  Sophia,  a  heron's  plume  that  has  or- 
namented the  turban  of  Selim,  third  of  that  name,  the  merchant 
gives  his  word  of  honor  for  the  fact.  Is  there  nothing  here 
that  tempts  you  ?  He  opens  another  casket,  and  pulls  out  an 
ostrich  egg  from  Sennahar,  a  Persian  ink-horn,  a  damascened 
ring,  a  Mingrelian  bow,  with  its  quiver  of  elk-skin,  a  Circassian 
double-pointed  cap,  a  jasper  rosary,  a  perfume  burner  of  enam- 
elled gold,  a  Turkish  talisman,  a  camel  driver's  knife,  a  bottle 
of  attar  of  roses — do  you  find  nothing  yet,  in  Heaven's  name  ? 
Do  you  not  want  to  make  a  present  ?  Have  you  no  thought 
for  your  relations  ?  No  remembrance  of  your  friends  ?  But 
perhaps  you  have  a  passion  for  stuffs  and  carpets,  and  in  these 
also  you  can  be  served  in  a  friendly  way.  Here,  Milord,  is  a 
striped  mantle  from  Kurdistan  ;  here  is  a  lion's  skin,  here 
is  a  carpet  from  Aleppo  with  steel  nails,  here  is  a  car- 
pet of  Casa-blanca,  three  fingers  thick,  that  will  last  for 
four  generations,  guaranteed ;    here,  your  excellency,  are  old 


THE   GREA  T  BAZAAR.  93 

cushions,  old  brocaded  sashes,  and  old  silken  coverlets,  a  little 
frayed  and  moth  eaten,  but  embroidered  in  a  way  that  can  not 
be  done  now,  not  even  if  you  were  to  pay  a  fortune  for  it.  You, 
Cabellero,  who  have  been  brought  here  by  a  friend,  you  shall 
have  this  sash  for  five  napoleons,  and  I  shall  have  the  means 
for  eating  bread  and-  garlic  for  a  week. 

If  you  are  staunch  against  this  temptation,  he  will  whisper 
in  your  ear  that  he  can  sell  you  the  very  cord  with  which  the 
terrible  mutes  of  the  Seraglio  strangled  Nassuh  Pasha,  the 
Grand  Vizier  of  Mahmoud  Third  ;  if  you  laugh  in  his  face  and 
say  you  can  not  swallow  that,  he  will  drop  it  like  a  man  of 
spirit,  and  will  make  one  final  attempt  upon  your  purse,  by 
throwing  down  before  you  a  horse's  tail,  like  those  that  are  car- 
ried before  and  behind  a  pasha  ;  or  a  janissary's  helmet,  carried 
off  by  his  father,  all  stained  with  blood,  on  the  very  day  of  the 
famous  massacre  ;  or  a  piece  of  flag  from  the  Crimea,  with  the 
crescent  and  silver  stars  ;  or  an  agate  wash  basin  ;  or  a  brazier 
in  carved  copper  ;  or  a  dromedary's  collar  hung  with  shells  and 
bells ;  or  a  eunuch's  whip  of  hippopotamus  hide,  or  a  Koran 
bound  in  gold,  or  a  scarf  from  Korassan,  or  a  pair  of  slippers 
from  Kadina,  or  a  candle-stick  made  from  an  eagle's  talon, 
until  at  last  your  fancy  all  on  fire,  you  feel  a  wild  desire  to  throw 
down  purse,  watch,  studs,  and  sleeve  buttons,  and  cry  out — give, 
give  !  and  one  must  indeed  be  a  father  of  wisdom  to  resist. 
How  many  artists  have  come  out  of  this  place  as  bare  as  Job,  and 
how  many  rich  men  have  made  a  hole  in  their  patrimony  ! 

But  before  the  great  bazaar  closes,  we  must  take  one  more 
turn  about  it,  and  see  it  in  its  latest  hour,  The  movement  of 
the  crowd  is  more  hurried,  the  merchants  call  out  more  impera- 


94  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

tively,  Greeks  and  Armenians  run  about  with  shawls  and  carpets 
over  their  arms,  crying  their  wares  ;  groups  form,  dissolve,  and 
re-form  further  on  ;  horses,  carriages,  and  beasts  of  burthen 
pass  in  a  long  file  towards  the  entrance  doors.  In  that  hour, 
all  the  merchants  with  whom  you  have  bargained  without  com- 
ing to  an  agreement,  flit  about  you  in  the  twilight  like  bats  ; 
they  peep  at  you  from  behind  columns,  and  cross  your  path  at 
every  turn,  in  order  to  remind  you  by  their  presence  of  that 
stuff,  or  that  jewel,  and  renew  your  fancy  for  it.  Sometimes 
you  have  a  train  behind  you  ;  if  you  stop,  they  stop,  if  you  turn, 
they  turn,  and  if  you  look  back  you  meet  the  glance  of  twenty 
fixed  dilated  eyes  that  seem  to  devour  you  alive.  But  the  light 
wanes,  and  the  crowd  is  thinning  ;  under  the  long  vaulted  roofs 
resounds  the  voice  of  some  invisible  muezzin,  announcing  the 
close  of  day  ;  some  Turks  spread  their  carpets  and  murmur 
their  evening  prayer  before  their  shops ;  others  make  their  ab- 
lutions at  the  fountains.  Already  the  old  centenarians  of  the 
Bazaar  of  Arms  have  closed  the  great  iron  doors ;  the  smaller 
bazaars  are  deserted,  the  corridors  are  lost  in  darkness,  the 
openings  of  streets  look  like  caverns,  camels  come  upon  you 
unheard,  the  voices  of  the  water-venders  die  away  under  the 
arches,  the  Turks  hasten  their  steps,  strangers  depart,  the  shut- 
ters are  closed,  the  day  is  over. 

And  now  I  hear  the  inquiry  on  all  sides :  "  But  what  about 
Saint  Sophia?  and  the  old  Seraglio?  and  the  palaces  of  the 
Sultan?  and  the  Castle  of  Seven  Towers?  and  Abdul-Aziz? 
and  the  Bosphorus  ? "  I  will  describe  all  in  turn  and  with  all 
my  heart;  but  first,  I  must  be  allowed  to  wander  still  freely 
about  Constantinople,  changing  my  argument  at  every  page,  as 
then,  I  changed  my  thought  at  every  step. 


THE  LIGHT.  95 


THE  LIGHT. 

And  first  of  all,  the  light !  One  of  my  dearest  delights  at 
Constantinople  was  to  see  the  sun  rise  and  set,  standing  upon 
the  bridge  of  the  Sultana  Valide.  At  dawn,  in  autumn,  the 
Golden  Horn  is  almost  always  covered 'by  a  light  fog,  behind 
which  the  city  is  seen  vaguely,  like  those  gauze  curtains  that 
descend  upon  the  stage  to  conceal  the  preparations  for  a  scenic 
spectacle.  Scutari  is  quite  hidden  ;  nothing  is  to  be  seen  but 
the  dark  uncertain  outline  of  her  hills.  The  bridge  and  the 
shores  are  deserted,  Constantinople  sleeps ;  the  solitude  and 
silence  render  the  spectacle  more  solemn.  The  sky  begins  to 
grow  golden  behind  the  hills  of  Scutari.  Upon  that  luminous 
strip  are  drawn,  one  by  one,  black  and  clear,  the  tops  of  the 
cypress  trees  in  the  vast  cemetery,  like  an  army  of  giants 
ranged  upon  the  heights;  and  from  one  cape  of  the  Golden 
Horn  to  the  other,  there  shines  a  tremulous  light,  faint  as  the 
first  murmur  of  the  awakening  city.  Then  behind  the  cypresses 
of  the  Asiatic  shore  comes  forth  an  eye  of  fire,  and  suddenly 
the  white  tops  of  the  four  minarets  of  Saint  Sophia  are  tinted 
with  deep  rose.  In  a  few  minutes,  from  hill  to  hill,  from 
mosque  to  mosque,  down  to  the  end  of  the  Golden  Horn,  all 
the  minarets,  one  after  the  other,  turn  rose  color,  all  the  domes, 
one  by  one  are  silvered,  the  flush  descends  from  terrace  to  ter- 
race, the  tremulous  light  spreads,  the  great  veil  melts,  and  all 


96  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Stamboul  appears,  rosy  and  resplendent  upon  her  heights,  blue 
and  violet  along  the  shores,  fresh  and  young,  as  if  just  risen 
from  the  waters.  As  the  sun  rises  the  delicacy  of  the  first  tints 
vanishes  in  an  immense  illumination,  and  everything  remains 
bathed  in  white  light  until  towards  evening.  Then  the  divine 
spectacle  begins  again.  The  air  is  so  limpid  that  from  Galata 
one  can  see  clearly  every  distant  tree,  as  far  as  Kadi-Kioi. 
The  whole  of  the  immense  profile  of  Stamboul  stands  out 
against  the  sky  with  such  a  clearness  of  line  and  rigor  of  color, 
that  every  minaret,  obelisk,  and  cypress  tree  can  be  counted 
one  by  one  from  Seraglio  Point  to  the  cemetery  of  Eyub.  The 
Golden  Horn  and  the  Bosphorus  assume  a  wonderful  ultrama- 
rine color;  the  heavens,  the  color  of  amethyst  in  the  East,  are 
on  fire  behind  Stamboul,  tinting  the  horizon  with  infinite  lights 
of  rose  and  carbuncle  that  make  one  think  of  the  first  day  of 
the  creation  ;  Stamboul  darkens,  Galata  becomes  golden,  and 
Scutari,  struck  by  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  with  every 
pane  of  glass  giving  back  the  glow,  looks  like  a  city  on  fire. 
And  this  is  the  moment  to  contemplate  Constantinople.  There 
is  one  rapid  succession  of  the  softest  tints,  pallid  gold,  rose  and 
lilac,  which  quiver  and  float  over  the  sides  of  the  hills  and  the 
water,  every  moment  giving  and  taking  away  the  prize  of  beauty 
from  each  part  of  the  city,  and  revealing  a  thousand  modest 
graces  of  the  landscape  that  have  not  dared  to  show  themselves 
in  the  full  light.  Great  melancholy  suburbs  are  lost  in  the 
shadow  of  the  valleys ;  little  purple  cities  smile  upon  the 
heights ;  villages  faint  as  if  about  to  die ;  others  die  at  once 
like  extinguished  flames ;  others,  that  seemed  already  dead,  re- 
vive, and  glow,  and  quiver  yet  a  moment  longer  under  the  last 


THE  LIGHT.  97 

ray  of  the  sun.  Then  there  is  nothing  left  but  two  resplendent 
points  upon  the  Asiatic  shore ;  the  summit  of  Mount  Bulgurlu, 
and  the  extremity  of  the  cape  that  guards  the  entrance  to  the 
Propontis ;  they  are  at  first  two  golden  crowns,  then  two  purple 
caps,  then  two  rubies ;  then  all  Constantinople  is  in  shadow, 
and  ten  thousand  voices  from  ten  thousand  minarets  announce 
the  close  of  day. 


98  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


BIRDS. 

Constantinople  has  one  grace  and  gayety  peculiar  to  it- 
self, that  comes  from  an  infinite  number  of  birds  of  every  kind, 
for  which  the  Turks  nourish  a  warm  sentiment  of  sympathy  and 
regard.  Mosques,  groves,  old  walls,  gardens,  palaces,  all  re- 
sound with  the  song,  the  whistling  and  twittering  of  birds ; 
everywhere  wings  are  fluttering,  and  life  and  harmony  abound. 
The  sparrows  enter  the  houses  boldly  and  eat  out  of  women's 
and  children's  hands ;  swallows  nest  over  the  cafe  doors,  and 
under  the  arches  of  the  bazaars ;  pigeons  in  innumerable 
swarms,  maintained  by  legacies  from  Sultans  and  private  in- 
dividuals, form  garlands  of  black  and  white  along  the  cornices 
of  the  cupolas  and  around  the  terraces  of  the  minarets ;  sea- 
gulls dart  and  play  over  the  water,  thousands  of  turtle-doves 
coo  amorously  among  the  cypresses  in  the  cemeteries;  crows 
croak  about  the  Castle  of  the  Seven  Towers ;  halcyons  come 
and  go  in  long  files  between  the  Black  Sea  and  the  Sea  of  Mar- 
mora; and  storks  sit  upon  the  cupolas  of  the  mausoleums. 
For  the  Turk,  each  one  of  these  birds  has  a  gentle  meaning,  or 
a  benignant  virtue  ;  turtle-doves  are  favorable  to  lovers,  swal- 
lows keep  away  fire  from  the  roofs  where  they  build  their  nests, 
storks  make  yearly  pilgrimages  to  Mecca,  halcyons  carry  the 
souls  of  the  faithful  to  Paradise.     Thus  he  protects  and  feeds 


BIRDS.  99 

them,  through  a  sentiment  of  gratitude  and  piety,  and  they 
enliven  the  house,  the  sea,  and  the  sepulchre.  Every  quarter 
of  Stamboul  is  full  of  the  noise  of  them,  bringing  to  the  city  a 
sense  of  the  pleasures  of  country  life,  and  continually  refreshing 
the  soul  with  a  reminder  of  nature. 


100  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


MEMORIALS. 

In  no  other  city  in  Europe  do  places  and  legendary  or 
historical  monuments  excite  the  fancy  as  in  Stamboul,  for,  in  no 
other  city  do  they  record  events  so  recent  and  yet  so  fantastic. 
Anywhere  else,  to  find  the  poetry  of  memory,  one  must  go  back 
some  centuries,  but  at  Stamboul  a  few  years  will  suffice.  Le- 
gend, or  that  which  has  the  nature  and  efficacy  of  legend,  is  of 
yesterday.  It  is  but  a  few  years  since  the  fabulous  hecatomb 
of  the  Janissaries  was  consumed  in  the  Et-Meidan ;  but  a  few 
years  since  the  twenty  sacks  containing  Mustafa's  beauties 
were  thrown  up  on  the  shores  of  the  Sea  of  Marmora  ;  since  the 
family  of  Brancovano  were  destroyed  in  the  castle  of  the  Seven 
Towers  ;  since  two  capige  basci,  held  European  ambassadors  by 
both  arms  in  the  presence  of  the  Grand  Seigneur,  only  the  half 
of  whose  face  was  displayed,  illuminated  by  a  mysterious  light; 
and  since  there  ceased  behind  the  walls  of  the  Old  Seraglio 
that  strange  life,  so  mingled  with  love,  horror,  and  madness,  that 
it  already  seems  centuries  distant.  Wandering  about  Stamboul 
with  these  thoughts,  one  is  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  astonish- 
ment at  seeing  the  city  so  tranquil,  and  smiling  with  all  its  col- 
or and  verdure.  Ah !  traitress !  you  exclaim,  what  have  you 
done  with  those  mountains  of  severed  heads,  and  those  lakes 
of  blood  ?  Is  it  possible  that  it  is  all  so  well  hidden,  cleansed, 
washed,  that  no  trace  remains?     On  the  Bosphorus,  opposite 


MEMORIALS.  10 1 

the  tower  of  Leander,  that  rises,  a  monument  of  love,  from  the 
water,  under  the  walls  of  the  Seraglio  gardens,  may  still  be 
seen  the  inclined  plane  by  which  faithless  odalisques  were  rolled 
into  the  sea  ;  in  the  Et-Meidan  the  serpentine  column  in  the 
midst  still  bears  the  mark  of  the  famous  sabre-stroke  of  Ma- 
homet the  Conqueror  ;  on  the  bridge  of  Mahmoud  is  still  shown 
the  spot  where  the  fiery  Sultan  struck  dead  the  audacious  der- 
vish, who  hurled  an  anathema  in  his  face  ;  in  the  cistern  of  the 
ancient  church  of  Balukli,  still  swim  the  miraculous  fish  that 
predicted  the  fall  of  the  city  of  the  Paleologhi  j  under  the  trees 
of  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Asia  are  pointed  out  the  recesses  where  a 
dissolute  Sultana  bestowed  upon  the  favorites  of  a  moment  the 
love  that  ended  in  death.  Every  door,  every  tower,  every 
mosque,  every  square,  recalls  some  prodigy,  or  some  carnage, 
some  love,  or  mystery,  or  prowess  of  a  Padishah,  or  caprice  of 
a  Sultana,  every  place  has  its  legend,  and  all  the  surroundings, 
the  distant  prospect,  the  air,  and  the  silence,  concur  to  bear 
away  the  imagination  from  the  life  of  the  present,  and  plunge  it 
into  the  past,  until  the  idea  of  going  back  to  one's  hotel  seems 
incongruous  and  strange,  that  one  is  tempted  to  exclaim — What ! 
— is  there  such  a  thing  as  a  hotel  ? 


102  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


RESEMBLANCES. 

In  the  first  days,  fresh  as  I  was  from  the  perusal  of  Orien- 
tal literature,  I  saw  everywhere  the  famous  personages  of  his- 
tory and  legend,  and  the  figures  that  recalled  them  resembled 
sometimes  so  faithfully  those  that  were  fixed  in  my  imagination, 
that  I  was  constrained  to  stop  and  look  at  them.  How  many 
times  have  I  seized  my  friend  by  the  arm,  and  pointing  to  a 
person  passing  by,  have  exclaimed, — ' '  It  is  he,  Cospetto  !  do 
you  not  recognize  him  ?"  In  the  square  of  the  Sultana  Valide, 
I  frequently  saw  the  gigantic  Turk  who  threw  down  millstones 
from  the  walls  of  Nicaea,  on  the  heads  of  the  soldiers  of  Bag- 
lione  j  I  saw  in  front  of  a  mosque  Umm  Dgiemil,  that  old  fury 
that  sowed  brambles  and  nettles  before  Mahomet's  house  ;  I 
met  in  the  book  bazaar,  with  a  volume  under  his  arm,  Digiemal- 
eddin,  the  learned  man  of  Broussa,  who  knew  the  whole  of  the 
Arab  dictionary  by  heart ;  I  passed  quite  close  to  the  side  of 
Ayesha,  the  favorite  wife  of  the  Prophet,  and  she  fixed  upon  my 
face  her  eyes,  brilliant  and  humid  like  the  reflection  of  stars  in  a 
well;  I  have  recognized  in  the  Et-Meidan,  the  famous  beauty 
of  that  poor  Greek  woman,  killed  by  a  cannon  ball  at  the  base 
of  the  serpentine  column  ;  I  have  been  face  to  face  in  the  Fanar, 
with  Kara-Abderrahman,the  handsomest  young  Turk  of  the  time 
of  Orkana ;  I  have  seen  Coswa,  the  she-camel  of  the  Prophet ; 
I  have  encountered  Kara-bulut,  Selim's  black  steed  ;  I  have  met 


RESEMBLANCES.  IO3 

the  poor  poet  Fignahi,  condemned  to  go  about  Stamboul  tied 
to  an  ass,  for  having  pierced  with  an  insolent  distich  the  Grand 
Vizier  of  Ibrahim  ;  I  have  been  in  the  same  cafe  with  Soliman 
the  Big,  the  monstrous  admiral,  whom  four  robust  slaves  hardly 
succeeded  in  lifting  from  his  divan;  Ali,  the  Grand  Vizier, 
who  could  not  find  in  all  Arabia  a  horse  that  could  carry  him  ; 
Mahmoud  Pasha,  the  ferocious  Hercules  that  strangled  the  son 
of  Soliman  ;  and  the  stupid  Ahmed  Second,  who  continually 
repeated,  Koso  /  Koso  / — very  well,  very  well — crouching  be- 
fore the  door  of  the  copyists'  bazaar  in  the  square  of  Bajazet. 
All  the  personages  of  the  Thousand  and  One  Nights,  the  Alad- 
dins,  the  Zobeides,  the  Sindbads,  the  Gulnares,  the  old  Jewish 
merchants,  possessors  of  enchanted  carpets  and  wonderful 
lamps,  passed  before  me  like  a  procession  of  phantoms. 


1 04  CONS  TA  N  TINOPLE. 


COSTUME. 

This  is  really  the  period  wherein  to  see  the  Mussulman 
population  of  Constantinople  to  the  best  advantage,  because  in 
the  last  century  they  were  too  uniform,  and  in  the  next  they 
will  probably  be  the  same.  Now  we  catch  them  in  the  act  of 
transformation,  and  thus  they  present  an  extraordinary  variety. 
The  progress  of  the  reformers,  the  resistance  of  the  old  Turks, 
and  the  uncertainty  and  hesitations  of  the  great  mass  that  undu- 
lates between  the  two  extremities,  all  the  phases,  in  short,  of 
the  struggle  between  old  and  young  Turkey,  are  faithfully  rep- 
resented in  the  variety  of  costume.  The  inflexible  old  Turk 
still  wears  the  turban,  the  caftan,  and  the  traditional  slippers  of 
yellow  morocco ;  and  the  more  obstinate  the  man,  the  bigger 
his  turban.  The  reforming  Turk  wears  a  long  black  frock  coat 
buttoned  to  the  chin,  trousers  with  straps,  and  nothing  Turkish 
but  the  fez.  The  more  youthful  among  them,  however,  have 
already  thrown  aside  the  black  frock,  and  wear  cut-away  coats, 
light  pantaloons,  elegant  cravats,  watch  chains  and  seals,  and  a 
flower  in  the  button  hole.  Between  these  and  those,  the  caftan 
wearers,  and  the  frock  coats,  there  is  an  abyss  ;  there  is  nothing 
in  common  but  the  name  ;  they  are  two  entirely  different  peo- 
ples. The  turbaned  Turk  firmly  believes  in  the  bridge  Sirat 
over  the  infernal  regions,  finer  than  a  hair,  and  sharper  than  a 
scimetar ;  he  makes  his  ablutions  at  the  proper  hours,  and  goes 


COSTUME.  105 

home  at  sunset.  The  Turk  of  the  black  frock  coat  laughs  at 
the  Prophet,  gets  himself  photographed,  speaks  French,  and 
passes  his  evening  at  the  theatre.  Between  them  both  there  is 
the  waverer,  who  still  wears  the  turban,  but  very  small,  so  that 
he  could  exchange  it  for  a  fez  without  scandal ;  some  wear  the 
caftan,  but  have  already  inaugurated  the  fez  ;  others  wear  the 
ancient  costume,  but  without  sash,  slippers,  or  brilliant  colors  ; 
and  little  by  little  they  will  get  rid  of  the  rest.  The  women 
only  preserve  the  veil  and  mantle  that  hide  the  form  ;  but  the 
veil  has  become  transparent,  and  sometimes  shows  a  plumed 
hat  underneath,  and  the  mantle  often  covers  a  gown  cut  after  a 
Parisian  model.  Every  year  sees  the  fall  of  thousands  of  caf- 
tans, and  the  rise  of  thousands  of  frock  coats  ;  every  day  dies 
an  old  Turk,  and  a  reformed  Turk  is  born.  Newspapers  suc- 
ceed to  the  rosary,  cigars  to  the  chibouk,  wine  takes  the  place 
of  water ;  the  coach  displaces  the  araba ;  French  grammar  is 
studied  instead  of  Arabian  grammar ;  pianofortes  and  stone 
houses  succeed  to  the  timbur,  and  the  house  of  wood.  Every- 
thing is  changing,  and  being  transformed.  Perhaps  in  less 
than  a  century  we  must  seek  for  the  remains  of  old  Turkey  at 
the  bottom  of  the  more  distant  provinces  of  Asia  Minor,  as  we 
now  find  old  Spain  only  in  the  most  remote  villages  of  Anda- 
lusia. 


]  06  CONS  TA  N  TINOPLE. 


THE  FUTURE  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

This  thought  assailed  me  often  as  I  contemplated  Constan- 
tinople from  the  bridge  of  the  Sultana  Valide.  What  will  this 
city  have  become  after  one  or  two  centuries,  even  if  the  Turks 
are  not  driven  out  of  Europe  ?  The  great  holocaust  of  beauty 
to  expediency  will  have  been  consummated.  I  see  her,  the 
Constantinople  of  the  future,  that  London  of  the  East  that  will 
sit  in  sad  and  threatening  majesty  upon  the  ruins  of  the  most 
lovely  and  smiling  of  cities.  The  hills  will  be  levelled,  the 
groves  cut  down,  the  many  colored  houses  cleared  away ;  the 
horizon  will  be  cut  on  every  side  by  the  long,  rigid  lines  of  pal- 
aces, factories,  and  store-houses,  in  the  midst  of  which  will  run 
myriads  of  straight  streets,  flanked  by  tall  shops  and  pyramidal 
roofs  and  steeples.  Long,  wide  avenues  will  divide  Stamboul 
into  ten  thousand  enormous  blocks  ;  telegraph  wires  will  cross 
each  other  like  an  immense  spider  web,  above  the  roofs  of  the 
noisy  city ;  on  the  bridge  of  the  Sultana  Valide,  will  flow  all  day 
long  a  black  torrent  of  stove-pipe  hats  and  caps ;  the  myste- 
rious hill  of  the  Seraglio  will  be  a  zoological  garden  ;  the  castle 
of  the  Seven  Towers  a  penitentiary,  the  Ebdomon  a  museum 
of  natural  history ;  the  whole  will  be  solid,  geometrical,  useful, 
grey  and  ugly,  and  a  great  dark  cloud  will  forever  veil  the  skies 
of  Thrace,  towards  which  will  rise  no  more  ardent  prayers,  no 
more  eyes  enamored  of  the  songs  of  poets.      When  this  image 


THE  FUTURE   CONSTANTINOPLE.  I07 

rises  before  me,  I  feel  an  oppression  of  the  heart ;  but  then  I 
console  myself  thinking: — who  knows  but  in  the  twenty-first 
century,  some  Italian  bride,  making  her  wedding  journey  here, 
may  not  exclaim  sometimes : — What  a  pity !  Pity  that  Con- 
stantinople is  no  longer  such  as  it  was  when  described  by  that 
old  worm-eaten  book  of  the  nineteenth  century,  that  I  once 
found  in  my  grandmother's  closet ! 


108  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


THE    DOGS   OF  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Constantinople  is  an  immense  dog  kennel ;  every  one 
makes  the  remark  as  soon  as  he  arrives.  The  dogs  constitute 
a  second  population  of  the  city,  less  numerous,  but  not  less 
strange  than  the  first.  Everybody  knows  how  the  Turks  love 
them  and  protect  them.  I  do  not  know  if  it  is  because  the 
sentiment  of  charity  toward  all  creatures  is  recommended  in 
the  Koran,  or  because,  like  certain  birds,  the  dogs  are  believed 
to  be  bringers  of  good  fortune,  or  because  the  Prophet  loved 
them,  or  because  the  sacred  books  speak  of  them,  or  because 
as  some  pretend,  Mahomet  the  Victorious  brought  in  his  train  a 
numerous  staff  of  dogs,  who  entered  triumphantly  with  him 
through  the  breach  in  the  San  Romano  gate.  The  fact  is  that 
they  are  highly  esteemed,  that  many  Turks  leave  sums  for  their 
support  in  their  wills,  and  that  when  Sultan  Abdul  Medjid  had 
them  all  carried  to  the  Island  of  Marmora,  the  people  mur- 
mured, and  when  they  were  brought  back,  they  were  received 
with  rejoicings,  and  the  government  not  to  provoke  ill-humor, 
has  left  them  ever  since  in  peace.  Since,  however,  according 
to  the  Koran,  the  dog  is  an  unclean  animal,  and  every  Turk 
believes  that  he  would  contaminate  his  house  by  sheltering  one 
under  his  roof,  it  follows  that  not  one  of  the  innumerable  dogs 
of  Constantinople  has  a  master.  They  therefore  form  a  great 
free   vagabond   republic,  collarless,  nameless,  houseless,  and 


THE  DOGS  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE.  IO9 

lawless.  The  street  is  their  abode,  there  they  dig  little  dens, 
where  they  sleep,  eat,  are  born,  brought  up,  and  die  ;  and  no 
one,  at  least  at  Stamboul,  ever  thinks  of  disturbing  their  occu- 
pations or  their  repose.  They  are  masters  of  the  public  high- 
ways. In  our  cities  it  is  the  dog  that  makes  way  for  the  horse- 
man, or  foot  passenger.  There  it  is  the  people,  the  horses,  the 
camels,  the  donkeysj  that  make  way  for  the  dogs.  In  the  most 
frequented  parts  of  Stamboul  four  or  five  dogs,  curled  up  asleep 
in  the  middle  of  the  road,  will  cause  the  entire  population  of  a 
quarter  to  turn  out  of  the  way  for  half  a  day.  It  is  the  same 
in  Galata  and  Pera,  but  here  they  are  left  in  peace,  not  out  of 
respect  for  them,  but  because  they  are  so  many  that  it  would 
be  a  hopeless  and  endless  task,  to  attempt  to  drive  them  away 
from  under  the  feet  of  the  passenger. 

They  are  with  difficulty  disturbed  even  when  in  the  crowded 
street  a  carriage  with  four  horses  is  seen  coming  like  the  wind. 
Then,  and  at  the  very  last  moment,  they  rise  and  transport 
their  lazy  bones  a  foot  or  two  out  of  the  way — just  enough  and 
no  more  to  save  their  lives.  Laziness  is  the  distinctive  trait  of 
the  dogs  of  Constantinople.  They  lie  down  in  the  middle  of 
the  road,  five,  six,  ten  in  a  line,  or  in  a  ring,  curled  up  so  that 
they  look  more  like  tow  mats  than  beasts,  and  there  they  sleep 
the  whole  day  through,  among  throngs  of  people,  coming  and 
going,  with  the  most  deafening  noises,  and  neither  cold,  nor 
heat,  nor  rain  nor  shine  can  move  them.  When  it  snows  they 
stay  under  the  snow ;  when  it  rains  they  lie  in  the  mud  up  to 
their  ears,  so  that  when  at  length  they  rise  they  look  like 
sketches  of  animals  in  clay,  and  there  are  neither  eyes,  ears, 
nor  nose  to  be  seen. 


HO  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

At  Pera  and  Galata,  however,  they  are  less  indolent,  be- 
cause it  is  not  so  easy  to  find  food.  At  Stamboul  they  are 
boarding,  but  at  Pera  and  Galata  they  find  their  own  provisions. 
They  are  the  scavengers,  the  living  brooms  of  the  street,  what 
the  swine  reject  is  welcome  to  them.  Except  the  stones,  they 
eat  everything,  and  having  hardly  sufficient  to  keep  death  at 
bay,  curl  up  and  sleep  until  the  pangs  of  famine  wake  them. 
They  sleep  almost  always  in  the  same  spots. 

The  canine  population  of  Constantinople  is  divided  into 
quarters  or  wards.  Every  quarter,  every  street  is  inhabited  or 
rather  possessed  by  a  certain  number  of  dogs  who  never  go 
away  from  it,  and  never  allow  strangers  to  reside  in  it.  They 
exercise  a  sort  of  service  of  police.  They  have  their  guards, 
their  advanced  posts,  their  sentinels;  they  go  the  rounds,  and 
make  explorations.  Woe  to  any  dog  of  another  quarter  who, 
pushed  by  hunger,  shall  risk  himself  within  the  territory  of  his 
neighbors  !  A  crowd  of  curs  fall  upon  him  at  once,  and  if  they 
catch  him,  it  is  all  over  with  him  ;  if  they  cannot  catch  him, 
they  chase  him  furiously  as  far  as  his  own  domain ;  that  is,  to 
the  confines  of  it,  for  the  enemy's  country  is  ever  feared  and 
respected.  No  words  can  give  an  idea  of  the  fury  of  the  en- 
gagements that  take  place  about  a  bone,  about  a  fair  one,  or 
about  a  violation  of  territory.  Every  moment  may  be  seen  a 
crowd  of  dogs,  entangled  in  an  intricate  and  confused  mass, 
disappearing  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  giving  forth  such  barkings 
and  yelpings  as  would  pierce  the  ears  of  a  man  born  deaf; 
then  the  crowd  disperses — and  through  the  dust  appear  the 
victims  stretched  here  and  there  upon  the  field  of  battle.  Love, 
jealousy,  duels,  blood,  broken  legs  and  lacerated  ears   are  the 


THE  DOGS  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE.  Ill 

incidents  of  every  hour.  Sometimes  bands  of  them  assemble 
and  make  such  a  disturbance  in  front  of  some  shop,  that  the 
shopkeeper  and  his  boys  are  constrained  to  arm  themselves 
with  sticks  and  benches  and  make  a  military  sortie  to  clear  the 
street,  and  then  heads  may  be  heard  to  crack,  and  spines  to 
resound,  and  the  air  is  full  of  the  most  unearthly  noises. 

At  Pera  and  Galata  especially,  the  poor  beasts  are  so  ill- 
treated,  so  accustomed  to  feel  a  blow  whenever  they  see  a  stick, 
that  the  mere  sound  of  an  umbrella,  or  cane  upon  the  stones 
sends  them  flying ;  and  even  when  they  seem  asleep,  there  is 
always  one  ear  open,  one  half  closed  eye  with  which  they  follow 
for  a  long  distance  the  movements  of  a  suspicious  stick  ;  and  so 
little  accustomed  are  they  to  kindly  human  notice  that  it  is 
enough  to  caress  one  in  passing,  and  ten  others  will  run  and 
jump  about  you,  wagging  their  tails,  whining,  with  eyes  shining 
with  joy  and  gratitude. 

The  condition  of  a  dog  at  Pera  and  Galata  is  acknowledged 
to  be  worse  than  that  of  a  spider  in  Holland,  which  all  the 
world  knows  to  be  one  of  the  most  persecuted  creatures  in  the 
animal  kingdom. 

Beholding  them,  one  cannot  but  believe  that  they  have  their 
recompense  after  death.  Even  they,  like  everything  else  at 
Constantinople,  called  up  some  historical  reminiscence ;  but  it 
was  a  bitterly  ironical  one  ;  it  was  the  famous  hunting  pack  of 
Bajazet,  that  scoured  the  imperial  forests  of  Olympus,  in  crim- 
son housings  and  jewelled  collars  ;  what  a  change  in  social 
position !  This  unhappy  fate  depends  also  in  part  upon  their 
ugliness.  They  are  almost  all  of  the  mastiff,  or  wolf-dog  race, 
and  they  have  a  mingled  look  of  wolf  and  fox  ;  or  rather  they 


1 1  2  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

resemble  nothing,  but  are  the  horrible  product  of  fortuitous 
crossings,  spotted  with  strange  colors,  about  the  size  of  the 
so-called  butcher's  dog,  and  so  lean  that  we  can  count  their 
ribs  at  twenty  paces. 

The  greater  part  of  them  are  reduced  by  continual  battles, 
into  such  a  condition  that  if  they  were  not  seen  to  walk,  they 
might  be  taken  for  carcasses  of  dogs,  with  broken  tails,  with 
torn  ears,  with  hairless  spines  and  scarred  necks,  one-eyed, 
lame  of  two  legs,  covered  with  sores,  and  devoured  by  flies,  re- 
duced to  the  last  condition  to  which  a  dog  can  be  reduced  and 
live,  they  are  real  relics  of  war  and  hunger  and  disease.  As 
for  the  tail,  it  may  be  said  to  be  an  immense  luxury,  for  it  is 
rare  for  a  Constantinople  dog  to  wear  his  tail  entire  for  more 
than  two  months  of  public  life.  Poor  beasts  !  They  would 
inspire  a  heart  of  stone  with  compassion.  There  are  some 
among  them,  so  lopped  and  gnawed,  and  in  the  strangest  ways, 
they  walk  with  such  a  languid  waddle,  with  such  grotesque 
totterings,  that  it  is  impossible  to  forbear  a  smile,  and  famine, 
war  and  sticks,  are  not  their  only  or  their  worst  enemies.  A 
cruel  custom  has  lately  invaded  Galata  and  Pera. 

Often  in  the  night  the  peaceful  citizens  are  awakened  by  the 
most  diabolical  noises ;  and  looking  from  the  window  they  be- 
hold a  crowd  of  dogs  leaping  high  in  the  air,  whirling  round  and 
round,  and  beating  their  heads  furiously  against  the  walls,  and 
in  the  morning  the  ground  is  strewn  with  corpses. 

The  doctor  and  apothecary  of  the  quarter,  having  the  habit 
of  studying  at  night,  and  wishing  to  procure  a  week  of  quiet, 
have  been  distributing  a  little  poison.  These  and  other  reasons 
cause  a  continual  diminution  in  the  number  of  dosrs  at  Pera  and 


THE  DOGS  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE.  113 

Galata,  but  to  little  purpose,  since  at  Stamboul  they  increase 
and  multiply,  until,  finding  no  more  aliment  in  the  Turkish  city, 
they  emigrate  to  the  other  shore  and  fill  with  their  innumerable 
progeny,  the  gaps  made  in  the  ranks  by  battle,  famine  and 
poison. 


1 14  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


THE    EUNUCHS. 

But  there  are  other  beings  at  Constantinople  who  excite 
more  compassion  than  the  dogs,  and  they  are  the  eunuchs,  who, 
as  they  were  introduced  among  the  Turks,  despite  the  formal 
precepts  of  the  Koran,  that  condemns  the  infamous  degrada^ 
tion  of  nature,  still  subsist,  notwithstanding  the  recent  laws 
which  prohibit  the  traffic,  since  avidity  for  gold,  and  selfishness 
are  stronger  than  the  law.  These  unfortunates  are  to  be  met 
at  every  step  in  the  streets,  as  they  are  found  on'  every  page  of 
history.  In  the  background  of  every  event  in  the  history  of 
Turkey  stands  one  of  these  sinister  figures,  with  a  list  of  con- 
spirators in  his  hand  ;  covered  with  gold,  and  stained  with 
blood,  victim,  favorite  or  executioner,  openly  or  secretly  formi- 
dable, upright  like  a  spectre  in  the  shadow  of  the  throne,  or 
dimly  seen  in  the  opening  of  a  mysterious  door.  So  now  in 
Constantinople,  in  the  midst  of  the  busy  crowd,  in  the  bazaars, 
among  the  merry  multitude  at  the  Sweet  Waters,  under  the  arches 
of  the  mosques,  beside  carriages,  in  the  steamers  and  caiques, 
at  all  feasts,  in  all  crowds,  is  seen  this  semblance  of  a  man,  this 
doleful  figure,  whose  presence  makes  a  dark,  lugubrious  stain 
upon  the  smiling  aspect  of  Oriental  life.  Their  political  impor- 
tance has  diminished  with  the  omnipotence  of  the  court,  and  as 
Oriental  jealousy  relaxes,  their  consequence  in  private  houses 
has  also  much  declined ;  it  is  difficult  for  them  now  to  find  in 


THE  EUNUCHS.  115 

riches  and  domination,  a  compensation  for  their  misfortune  \ 
no  Ghaznefer  Aga  could  now  be  found  to  consent  to  mutilation 
in  order  to  be  made  chief  of  the  white  eunuchs  ;  they  are  all  in 
these  days  most  certainly  victims,  and  victims  without  hope  of 
redress ;  bought  or  stolen  as  children  in  Abyssinia  or  in  Syria, 
about  one  in  three  survives  the  infamous  knife,  and  he  is  sold  in 
defiance  of  the  law,  with  a  hypocrisy  of  secrecy  more  odious 
than  an  open  market.  They  do  not  need  to  be  pointed  out, 
they  are  easily  recognized.  Almost  all  are  tall,  fat  and  flabby, 
with  beardless,  withered  faces,  short  bodied,  and  long  in  the 
legs  and  arms.  They  wear  the  scarlet  fez,  a  long  dark  frock 
coat  and  European  trousers,  and  they  carry  a  whip  of  hippopot- 
amus hide,  which  is  their  insignia  of  office.  They  walk  with 
long  soft  steps  like  big  children.  They  accompany  the  ladies 
on  foot  or  on  horseback,  either  before  or  behind  the  carriage, 
sometimes  one,  sometimes  two  together,  and  keep  a  vigilant 
eye  about  them,  which  at  the  least  irreverent  look  or  action  in 
the  passer  by,  assumes  an  expression  of  ferocious  anger. 
Except  in  such  a  case,  their  faces  are  absolutely  void  of  expres- 
sion, or  else  it  is  one  of  infinite  weariness  and  depression.  I 
do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  one  smile.  There  are  some 
very  young  ones  that  look  fifty  years  old,  and  some  old  ones 
that  seem  youths  fallen  into  decrepitude  in  a  day. 

There  are  many  so  round,  soft,  fat,  and  shining,  that  they 
look  like  fattened  swine  ;  all  are  dressed  in  fine  cloth,  and  per- 
fumed like  vain  young  dandies.  There  are  heartless  men  who 
can  pass  these  unfortunate  beings  with  a  laugh.  Perhaps  they 
think  that  having  been  such  from  childhood  they  do  not  com- 
prehend their  own  wretchedness.     On  the  contrary,  it  is  known 


Il6  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

that  they  do  understand  and  feel  it ;  and  even  if  it  were  not 
known,  how  could  it  be  doubted  ?  They  belong  to  no  sex,  they 
are  but  shows  of  men  ;  they  live  in  the  midst  of  men  and  see 
themselves  separated  by  an  abyss  ;  they  feel  life  beating  about 
them  like  a  sea  and  must  stand  in  it,  motionless  and  solitary  as 
a  rock ;  their  thoughts  and  feelings  are  strangled  by  an  iron 
circlet  that  no  human  force  can  break  ;  they  have  forever  before 
them  an  image  of  felicity,  toward  which  all  things  tend,  around 
which  all  things  move,  by  which  all  things  are  colored  and  illu- 
minated, and  they  feel  themselves  immeasurably  distant,  in 
darkness,  in  a  great,  cold  void,  like  creatures  accursed  of  God. 
To  be,  besides  custodians  of  that  felicity,  barriers  which  jealous 
men  plant  between  their  pleasures  and  the  world,  bolts  on  the 
door,  rags  to  hide  the  treasure  ;  and  to  live  among  perfumes 
and  seductions,  youth,  beauty,  and  gladness,  with  shame  upon 
their  foreheads,  rage  in  their  souls,  despised,  sneered  at,  with- 
out name,  without  family,  without  a  record  of  affection,  apart 
from  humanity  and  nature,  ah  !  it  must  be  a  torment  such  as 
the  human  mind  cannot  conceive,  like  living  with  a  dagger 
fixed  in  the  heart. 

And  this  infamy  is  still  allowed;  these  unhappy  wretches 
walk  about  the  streets  of  a  European  city,  live  in  the  midst  of 
men,  and  do  not  howl,  or  bite,  or  kill,  or  spit  in  the  faces  of 
that  coward  humanity  that  can  look  upon  them  without  blush- 
ing or  weeping,  and  that  forms  associations  for  the  protection 
of  dogs  and  cats !  Their  lives  are  one  continual  torture. 
When  their  mistresses  do  not  find  them  helpful  in  their  in- 
trigues they  hate  them  as  spies  and  jailors,  and  torment  them 
with  cruel  coquetries  that  drive  them  mad  with  fury,  like  the 


THE  EUNUCHS.  l\J 

poor  eunuch  in  the  Lettres  Persanes.  Everything  is  sarcasm  for 
them ;  they  bear  the  names  of  flowers  and  perfumes,  in  allusion 
to  the  ladies  whose  custodians  they  are :  they  are  possessors  of 
the  hyacinths,  guardians  of  the  lilies,  custodians  of  the  roses  and 
violets,  and  sometimes,  the  miserable  wretches  fall  in  love !  be- 
cause in  them  the  passions  are  not  eradicated ;  and  they  are 
jealous  and  weep  tears  of  blood ;  and  often  lose  their  reason 
altogether  and  strike.  In  the  time  of  the  Crimean  war,  a 
eunuch  struck  a  French  officer  across  the  face  with  his  whip, 
and  the  latter  cut  him  down  with  his  sabre.  Who  can  say 
what  sufferings  are  theirs  at  the  sight  of  smiles,  and  beauty,  or 
how  often  their  hands  grasp  the  hilt  of  the  dagger.  It  is  no 
wonder  that  in  the  immense  void  of  their  hearts  there  is  room 
for  the  cold  passions  of  hatred,  revenge,  and  ambition  ;  that 
they  grow  up  acrid,  biting,  envious,  cowardly,  ferocious  ;  that 
they  are  either  stupidly  faithful,  or  astutely  treacherous,  and 
that  when  they  are  powerful  they  seek  to  avenge  upon  men 
the  wrong  that  has  been  done  to  them.  But  however  debased 
they  may  be,  the  need  of  woman's  companionship  is  still  pow- 
erful with  them,  and  since  they  may  not  have  a  wife,  they  seek 
her  as  a  friend;  they  marry ;  choosing  a  woman  with  child,  like 
Sunbullu,  the  chief  eunuch  of  Ibrahim  First,  in  order  to  have  a 
child  to  love ;  they  have  a  harem  of  virgins,  like  the  chief 
eunuch  of  Ahmed  Second,  in  order  to  have  beauty  and  grace 
about  them,  a  semblance  of  affection,  an  illusion  of  love ;  they 
adopt  a  daughter,  to  have  one  woman's  breast  on  which  to  rest 
their  head  when  old,  so  as  not  to  die  without  one  caress,  and 
to  hear  in  their  last  years  a  kind  and  loving  voice,  after  having 
heard  throughout  their  lives  nothing  but  the  ironical  laugh  of 


1 1 8  CONS  TA  N  TINOPLE. 

contempt;  and  there  are  those  among  them,  who  having 
become  rich  at  the  court  and  in  the  great  houses,  purchase 
when  they  are  old,  a  pretty  villa  on  the  Bosphorus,  and  there 
try  to  forget,  to  deaden  the  remembrance  of  their  own  wretched- 
ness in  the  gayety  of  feasts  and  guests.  Among  the  many 
things  that  were  told  me  of  these  unhappy  beings,  one  has  re- 
mained vivid  in  my  memory ;  and  it  was  a  young  physician  of 
Pera  who  related  it  to  me.  Confuting  the  arguments  of  those 
who  insist  that  eunuchs  do  not  suffer: — "One  evening,"  he 
said,  "I  was  coming  out  of  a  rich  Mussulman's  house,  where  I 
had  gone  for  the  third  time  to  visit  one  of  his  wives,  who  had 
disease  of  the  heart.  At  my  departure,  as  at  my  arrival,  I  was 
accompanied  by  a  eunuch,  calling  out  in  the  customary  way : 
'Women,  withdraw,'  in  order  to  warn  ladies  and  slaves  that  a 
stranger  is  in  the  harem,  and  that  they  must  not  be  seen.  In 
the  court-yard  the  eunuch  left  me,  to  find  my  own  way  to  the 
gate.  Just  as  I  was  about  to  open  it,  I  felt  a  touch  upon  my 
arm,  and  turning,  saw  before  me  in  the  twilight  another  eunuch, 
a  young  man  of  eighteen  or  twenty  years  of  age,  who  looked 
fixedly  at  me,  with  eyes  swimming  in  tears.  I  asked  him  what 
he  wished.  He  hesitated  a  moment  to  reply,  and  then  seizing 
my  hand  in  both  of  his,  and  pressing  it  convulsively,  he  said  in 
a  trembling  voice,  full  of  despairing  grief:  '  Doctor  !  you  who 
know  the  remedy  for  every  ill,  do  you  know  of  none  for  mine  ? ' 
I  cannot  tell  you  how  those  simple  words  affected  me  ;  I  tried 
to  answer,  but  my  voice  failed  me,  and  hastily  opening  the 
door,  I  took  to  flight.  But  all  that  evening,  and  for  many  days 
after,  the  figure  of  the  youth  stood  before  me  and  I  heard  his 
words,  and  my  eyes  moistened  with  compassion."     O,  philan- 


THE  EUNUCHS.  1 19 

thropists,  public  men,  ministers,  ambassadors,  and  you,  depu- 
ties to  the  Parliament  of  Stamboul,  and  senators  of  the  Cres- 
cent, raise  your  voices  in  the  name  of  God  against  this  bloody 
infamy,  this  horrid  blot  upon  the  honor  of  humanity,  that  in 
the  twentieth  century  it  may  have  become,  like  the  slaughter 
in  Bulgaria,  only  a  painful  recollection. 


1 20  CONS  TA  N  T1N0PLE. 


THE  ARMY. 

Although  I  knew  before  reaching  Constantinople,  that  I 
should  find  there  no  trace  of  the  splendid  army  of  ancient  times, 
yet  I  had  no  sooner  arrived,  than  my  most  eager  curiosity  was 
to  see  the  soldiers,  with  whom  I  am  always  in  sympathy.  But 
I  found  the  reality  much  worse  than  I  had  imagined  it.  In 
place  of  the  ample,  picturesque,  and  warlike  costume  of  the  old 
time,  I  found  the  black  ungraceful  uniform,  the  red  trousers,  the 
scanty  jackets,  the  stripes  of  an  usher,  the  sashes  of  schoolboys, 
and  on  every  head,  from  the  Sultan  to  the  drummer  boy,  that 
deplorable  fez,  that  besides  being  mean  and  puerile,  especially 
upon  the  bare  skull  of  a  corpulent  Mussulman,  is  the  cause  of 
infinite  ophthalmia  and  hemicrania.  The  Turkish  army  has  lost 
the  beauty  of  its  ancient  time,  and  has  not  yet  acquired  that  of 
an  European  army ;  the  soldiers  looked  sad,  careless  and  dirty ; 
they  may  be  brave,  but  they  are  not  attractive.  As  for  their 
education,  this  is  enough  for  me  ;  that  I  have  seen  both  officers 
and  soldiers  in  the  street  using  their  fingers  for  a  pocket  hand- 
kerchief ;  that  a  soldier  on  guard  on  the  bridge,  where  smoking 
is  prohibited,  tore  the  cigar  out  of  a  gentleman's  mouth,  the 
gentleman  being  a  Vice-consul ;  and  that  in  the  mosque  of  the 
dervishes  of  Pera,  another  soldier,  in  my  presence,  wishing  to 
make  three  Europeans  understand  that  they  were  to  take  off 
their   hats,  struck  them  all  three  from   their  heads  with   one 


THE  ARMY.  121 

blow.  And  I  learned,  that  to  raise  the  voice  in  deprecation  of 
such  treatment,  was  only  to  bring  about  your  being  seized  like 
a  bag  of  rags  and  carried  off  bodily  to  the  guard-house.  For 
which  reason,  while  I  was  in  Constantinople  I  always  behaved 
to  the  soldiers  with  profound  respect.  I  ceased  also  to  wonder 
at  their  ways,  when  I  had  seen  what  manner  of  men  they  were 
before  putting  on  the  uniform.  I  saw  one  da}',  about  a  hun- 
dred recruits,  probably  from  the  interior  of  Asia  Minor,  passing 
through  the  streets  of  Stamboul,  and  was  filled  with  pity  and 
disgust.  I  seemed  to  be  looking  at  the  frightful  banditti  of 
Hassan  the  Mad,  that  passed  through  Constantinople  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  on  their  way  to  die  underAustrian  grape-shot 
in  the  plain  of  Pesth.  I  can  still  see  those  sinister  faces,  those 
long  tresses  of  tangled  hair,  those  half  naked,  tattooed  bodies, 
those  savage  ornaments,  and  can  smell  the  odor  as  of  a  mena- 
gerie of  wild  beasts  that  they  left  behind  them.  When  the  first 
news  of  the  massacres  in  Bulgaria  arrived,  I  thought  of  them  at 
once.  It  must  have  been  done  by  my  friends  of  Scutari,  said  I 
in  my  heart.  They,  however,  are  the  sole  picturesque  image 
that  remains  to  me  of  Mussulman  soldiers.  Splendid  armies 
of  Bajazet,  of  Soliman,  and  of  Mahomet,  that  I  might  see  you 
once,  for  one  instant,  ranked  upon  the  plain  of  Daoud  Pasha ! 
Every  time  that  I  passed  in  front  of  the  triumphal  gate  of  Adri- 
anople,  those  armies  were  before  my  mind  like  a  luminous  vis- 
ion, and  I  stopped  to  look  at  the  gate,  as  if  at  any  moment  the 
Pasha,  quarter-master,  herald  of  the  Imperial  staff,  might 
appear. 

The  Pasha  quarter-master  marched,  in  fact,  at  the  head  of 
the  army,  with  two  horse-tails,  insignia  of  his  dignity.     Behind 
6 


122  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

him  came  a  great  glitter  and  shine,  produced  by  eight  thousand 
copper  spoons,  stuck  in  the  turbans  of  as  many  janissaries,  in 
the  midst  of  whom  the  waving  heron  plumes  and  glittering  ar- 
mor of  the  colonels  were  seen,  followed  by  a  crowd  of  servants 
loaded  with  arms  and  provisions.  Behind  the  janissaries  came 
a  small  army  of  volunteers  and  pages,  in  silken  vests,  with  iron 
chain  armor,  and  gleaming  helmets,  accompanied  by  a  band  of 
music  ;  after  these,  the  cannoneers,  with  cannon  attached  each 
to  each  by  iron  chains,  then  another  small  army  of  agas,  pages, 
chamberlains,  and  feudatories,  mounted  upon  mailed  and  plumed 
steeds.  And  this  was  merely  the  vanguard.  Above  the  ser- 
ried ranks  floated  standards  of  every  color,  horse-tails  waved, 
lances,  bows  and  other  arms  glittered,  amid  which  could  scarcely 
be  distinguished  the  faces  of  warriors  bronzed  by  the  sun  of  Can- 
dia  and  of  Persia ;  and  the  discordant  sounds  of  drums,  flutes, 
trumpets  and  timbrels,  the  voices  of  the  singers  who  accom- 
panied the  janissaries,  the  clash  of  armor,  the  jingling  of  chains, 
the  shouts  of  Allah !  were  all  confounded  in  one  terrible  and 
warlike  noise  that  resounded  from  the  camp  of  Daoud  Pasha  to 
the  opposite  shore  of  the  Golden  Horn. 

Oh  !  painters  and  poets  who  have  lovingly  studied  that  splen- 
did Oriental  life,  now  forever  vanished,  help  me  to  bring  out 
from  the  walls  of  Stamboul  the  fabulous  army  of  Mahomet 
Third. 

The  vanguard  has  gone  by ;  another  dazzling  throng  ad- 
vances. Is  it  the  Sultan  ?  No,  the  deity  has  not  yet  perhaps 
issued  from  the  temple.  It  is  the  cortege  of  the  favorite  vizier. 
There  are  forty  agas  dressed  in  sables,  upon  forty  horses  capar- 
isoned  in  velvet  and   with   silver  reins,  behind  which  comes 


THE   ARMY.  1 23 

a  crowd  of  pages  and  magnificent  grooms  leading  other  forty 
horses  covered  with  gold,  and  loaded  with  shields,  maces,  and 
scimetars.  Another  cortege  advances.  It  is  not  yet  the  Sultan. 
It  is  that  of  the  members  of  the  Council  of  State,  the  high  dig- 
nitaries of  the  Seraglio,  and  the  Grand  Treasurer,  accompanied 
by  a  band  of  music  and  a  swarm  of  volunteers  in  crimson  caps 
ornamented  with  birds'  wings,  and  dressed  in  furs,  rose-colored 
silk,  leopard-skins,  and  Hungarian  kolpacks,  and  armed  with 
long  lances  bound  round  with  silk,  and  garlanded  with  flowers. 

Another  flood  of  horsemen  sweeps  through  the  gate  of 
Adrianople.  It  is  not  yet  the  Sultan.  It  is  the  cortege  of  the 
Grand  Vizier.  First  come  a  crowd  of  arquebusiers  on  horse- 
back, with  many  distinguished  agas  worthy  in  the  sight  of  the 
Grand  Signor,  and  then  come  forty  agas  of  the  Grand  Vizier  in 
the  midst  of  a  forest  of  twelve  hundred  lances  borne  by  as  many 
pages,  and  other  forty  pages  dressed  in  orange  color  and  armed 
with  bows  and  quivers  embroidered  with  gold,  and  two  hundred 
young  boys  divided  into  six  bands  of  six  different  colors,  among 
which  rode  relations  of  the  prime  minister,  followed  by  a  throng 
of  grooms,  armorers,  servants,  pages,  agas  in  golden  vests,  and 
banner-bearers  ;  and  last  of  all  comes  the  Kiaya,  or  minister 
of  the  interior,  surrounded  by  twelve  sa'au,  or  executioners  of 
justice,  and  followed  by  the  band  of  the  Grand  Vizier. 

Another  throng  issues  from  the  gate.  It  is  not  yet  the  Sultan. 
It  is  a  crowd  of  sa'au,  and  holders  of  various  offices,  splendidly 
dressed  and  escorting  the  jurisconsults,  mollahs,  and  others, 
behind  whom  comes  the  grand  Huntsman,  or  grand  Falconer, 
with  a  train  of  horsemen  carrying  before  them  on  their  saddles, 
leopards  tamed  for  the  chase,  and  a  procession  of  falconers, 


124  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

esquires,  guardians  of  the  ferrets,  trumpeters,  and  packs  of  capar- 
isoned and  bejewelled  dogs. 

Another  company  appears.  The  spectators  prostrate  them- 
selves ;  it  is  the  Sultan !  no — not  yet ;  it  is  not  the  head,  but 
the  heart  of  the  army  ;  the  sacred  ark,  the  fire  of  courage  and 
pious  rage,  the  Mussulman  carroccio,  around  which  shall  rise 
heaps  of  corpses  and  stream  torrents  of  blood,  the  green  stand- 
ard of  the  Prophet,  the  ensign  of  ensigns,  taken  from  the 
mosque  of  Sultan  Ahmed,  and  floating  over  a  ferocious  crowd 
of  dervishes,  covered  with  lion  and  bear  skins,  encircled  by  a 
band  of  preachers  of  inspired  aspect,  wrapped  in  mantles  of 
camels'  hair,  between  two  ranks  of  emirs,  descendants  of  the 
Prophet,  wearing  green  turbans  ;  and  all  together  they  raise  a 
threatening  and  sinister  clamor  of  shouts  and  prayers  and  sacred 
songs. 

Yet  another  wave  of  men  and  horses.  It  is  not  yet  the 
Sultan.  It  is  a  troop  of  sciau,  brandishing  their  silver  wands 
to  make  way  for  the  Judge  of  Constantinople,  and  the  Grand 
Judge  of  Europe  and  Asia,  whose  enormous  turbans  tower 
above  the  crowd  ;  it  is  the  favorite  vizier,  and  the  vizier  camai- 
can,  in  turbans  starred  and  striped  with  silver  and  gold ;  it  is 
all  the  viziers  of  the  divan  before  whom  wave  horse  tails  dyed 
in  henna,  and  borne  on  lances  painted  red  and  blue ;  and 
finally  it  is  the  army  Judge  followed  by  an  interminable  tail  of 
servants  in  leopard-skins  and  armed  with  poles,  pages,  armor- 
ers and  vivandiers. 

Now  comes  the  Grand  Vizier  himself,  dressed  in  a  purple 
caftan  lined  with  sables,  mounted  upon  a  horse  covered  with 
steel  and  gold,  followed  by  a  swarm  of  servants  in  red  velvet, 


THE  ARMY.  1 25 

and  surrounded  by  a  throng  of  high  dignitaries  and  lieutenant 
generals  of  janissaries,  among  whom  the  muftis  show  white  like 
swans,  amid  a  company  of  peacocks  ;  and  behind  these,  between 
two  files  of  lancers  in  gilded  vests,  and  a  double  rank  of  archers 
with  crescent  crests,  the  gaudy  grooms  of  the  Seraglio,  leading 
a  troop  of  Arab,  Turkoman,  Persian,  and  Caramanian  horses, 
caparisoned  in  velvet  and  gold,  and  bearing  bucklers  and  arms 
sparkling  with  precious  stones ;  last  of  all,  two  sacred  camels, 
one  of  which  carries  the  Koran  and  the  other  a  fragment  of  the 
Kaaba. 

The  cortege  of  the  Grand  Vizier  passed,  there  is  a  burst 
of  noisy  music  from  drums  and  trumpets,  the  spectators  fly, 
cannon  thunder,  a  troop  of  running  footmen  rush  through  the 
gate  whirling  their  scimetars  round  their  heads,  and  behold,  in 
the  midst  of  a  clump  of  lances,  a  throng  of  plumes  and 
swords,  surrounded  by  a  dazzling  glitter  of  gold  and  silver  hel- 
mets, behold  the  Sultan  of  Sultans,  the  king  of  kings,  the  dis- 
tributor of  crowns  to  the  princes  of  the  world,  the  shadow  of 
God  upon  earth,  the  emperor  and  sovereign  lord  of  the  White 
Sea  and  the  Black  Sea,  of  Rumelia  and  Anatolia,  of  the  prov- 
ince of  Sulkadr,  of  Diarbekir,  of  Kurdistan,  Aderbigian,  Agiem, 
Sciam,  Haleb,  Egypt,  Mecca,  Medina,  Jerusalem,  and  all  the 
confines  of  Arabia  and  of  Yemen,  together  with  all  the  other 
provinces  conquered  by  his  glorious  predecessors  and  august 
ancestors,  or  subjected  by  his  glorious  majesty  and  his  own 
flaming  and  triumphant  sword.  The  solemn  and  splendid  cor- 
tege passes  slowly  by,  and  now  and  then  a  glimpse  may  be 
caught  of  the  three  jewelled  feathers  of  the  turban  of  the  deity, 
with  grave  and  pallid  visage,  and  breast  flaming  with  diamonds; 


126  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

then  the  circle  closes  in,  the  cavalcade  passes  on,  the  menacing 
scimetars  are  lowered,  the  spectators  lift  their  foreheads  from 
the  ground,  the  vision  has  disappeared. 

To  the  imperial  cortege  succeeds  a  throng  of  officials,  of 
whom  one  carries  on  his  head  the  Sultan's  stool — (sgabelio), 
another  his  sabre,  another  his  turban,  another  his  mantle,  a  fifth 
the  silver  coffee  pot,  and  a  sixth  the  gold  coffee  pot ;  other 
groups  of  pages  pass ;  a  troop  of  white  eunuchs,  three  hundred 
chamberlains  on  horseback,  dressed  in  white  caftans ;  then 
come  the  hundred  carriages  of  the  harem  with  silvered  wheels, 
drawn  by  oxen  garlanded  with  flowers,  or  by  horses  with  trap- 
pings of  velvet,  and  flanked  by  a  legion  of  black  eunuchs ;  pass 
three  hundred  mules  laden  with  the  baggage  and  treasure  of 
the  court,  pass  a  thousand  camels  carrying  water,  pass  a  thou- 
sand dromedaries  carrying  provisions ;  passes  an  army  of 
armorers,  miners  and  workmen,  accompanied  by  a  band  of 
buffoons  and  jesters,  and  finally  passes  the  bulk  of  the  fighting 
army  :  the  janissaries,  yellow  silidars,  purple  azabs,  spahis  with 
red  ensigns,  foreign  horsemen  with  white  standards,  cannons 
that  vomit  blocks  of  marble  and  lead,  feudatories  from  three 
continents,  savage  volunteers  from  the  more  distant  provinces ; 
clouds  of  banners,  forests  of  plumes,  torrents  of  turbans,  iron 
phalanxes,  that  go  to  overrun  Europe  like  a  malediction  from 
God,  leaving  behind  them  a  desert  strewn  with  smoking  ruins 
and  heaps  of  human  bones. 


IDLENESS.  127 


IDLENESS. 

Although  at  some  hours  of  the  day  Constantinople  has  an 
appearance  of  industry,  in  reality  it  is  perhaps  the  laziest  city 
in  Europe.  Turks  and  Franks  are  all  alike  in  this.  Every- 
body gets  up  as  late  as  possible.  Even  in  summer,  at  an  hour 
when  all  our  cities  are  awake,  Constantinople  is  still  sleeping. 
The  sun  is  high  before  it  is  possible  to  find  a  shop  open  or  to 
get  a  cup  of  coffee.  Hotels,  offices,  bazaars  and  banks  are  all 
snoring  merrily  together,  and  even  a  cannon  would  not  startle 
them.  Then  there  are  the  holidays :  the  Turkish  Friday,  the 
Jewish  Sabbath,  the  Christian  Sunday,  the  innumerable  Saints' 
days  of  the  Greek  and  Armenian  calendar,  all  scrupulously  ob- 
served ;  and  all,  although  they  may  be  partial,  constraining  to 
idleness  even  that  part  of  the  population  that  is  foreign  to  them  ; 
all  this  may  give  an  idea  of  how  much  work  is  done  in  Con- 
stantinople in  the  seven  days  of  the  week.  There  are  offices 
that  are  open  only  twenty-four  hours  in  eight  days.  Every  day 
one  or  the  other  of  the  five  peoples  of  the  great  city  goes  loung- 
ing about  the  streets,  in  holiday  dress,  with  no  other  thought 
than  to  kill  time.  The  Turks  are  masters  of  this  art.  They 
are  capable  of  making  a  two-penny  cup  of  coffee  last  for  half  a 
day,  and  of  stopping  five  hours  motionless  under  a  cypress  tree 
in  a  cemetery.  Their  idleness  is  the  real  thing,  brother  to 
death,  like  sleep,  a  profound  repose  of  all  the  faculties,  a  sus- 


1 2  8  CONS  TA  Ar  TINOPLE. 

pension  of  all  cares,  a  mode  of  existence  quite  unknown  to 
Europeans.  They  do  not  wish  to  have  even  a  suggestion  of 
walking.  At  Stamboul  there  are  no  public  promenades,  and 
if  there  were,  Turks  would  not  frequent  them,  because  going  to 
a  particular  place  to  move  about  in  it,  would  seem  too  much  like 
work.  The  Turk  enters  the  first  cemetery,  or  the  first  street 
that  presents  itself,  and  goes  wherever  his  legs  carry  him, 
wherever  the  windings  of  the  way,  or  the  movement  of  the 
crowd  may  take  him.  Rarely  does  he  go  to  any  place  merely 
to  see  that  place.  There  are  Turks  in  Stamboul  who  have 
never  been  beyond  Kassim-Pasha,  and  Turkish  nobles  who 
have  never  penetrated  beyond  the  islands  of  the  Princes,  where 
they  have  friends,  or  beyond  their  villa  on  the  Bosphorus.  For 
them  the  height  of  beatitude  consists  in  total  inertia  of  mind 
and  body.  Therefore  they  leave  to  the  restless  Christians  all 
the  great  industries  that  demand  care,  many  steps,  and  jour- 
neys; and  restrict  themselves  to  small  affairs,  which  maybe 
transacted  seated,  and  rather  more  with  the  eyes  than  with  the 
mind.  Work,  which  with  us  dominates  and  regulates  all  the 
other  occupations  of  life,  is  their  subordinate  to  pleasure  and 
convenience.  With  us,  rest  is  an  interruption  of  labor ;  with 
them,  labor  is  only  an  interruption  of  repose.  First  of  all  and 
at  any  cost,  one  must  sleep,  dream,  smoke,  so  many  hours ;  and 
in  the  time  that  is  left,  do  something  or  other  to  get  one's  liv- 
ing. Time,  among  the  Turks,  signifies  quite  another  thing 
from  that  which  it  signifies  for  us.  Day,  month,  and  year,  have 
for  them  only  the  hundredth  part  of  the  value  that  they  have  in 
Europe.  The  very  shortest  time  that  an -official  of  the  Turkish 
ministry  requires  to  give  a  response  to  the  simplest  demand  is 


IDLENESS.  I29 

two  weeks.  Diligence  in  finishing  business  merely  for  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  it  finished  is  unknown  to  them.  Even 
among  the  porters  outside,  not  one  Turk  of  them  is  ever  seen 
in  the  streets  of  Stamboul  hastening  his  steps.  They  all  walk 
in  the  same  measure,  as  if  all  took  their  time  from  the  beat  of 
one  drum.  For  us,  life  is  a  rapid  torrent,  for  them  it  is  stag- 
nant water. 


1 30  COArS  TA  N  TINOPLE. 


NIGHT. 

Constantinople  is  by  day  the  most  splendid,  and  by  night 
the  darkest  city  in  Europe.  A  few  lamps  at  a  great  distance 
from  each  other,  scarcely  break  the  obscurity  of  the  principal 
streets  ;  the  others  are  as  dark  as  caverns,  and  no  one  risks 
themselves  in  them  without  a  lantern  in  his  hand.  At  night- 
fall, however,  the  city  becomes  a  desert;  a  few  guards  here 
and  there,  troops  of  dogs,  some  furtive  women,  some  companies 
of  young  men  bursting  noisily  out  of  the  subterranean  beer  shops, 
and  mysterious  lanterns,  that  appear  and  disappear  like  ignes- 
fatui  here  and  there  in  the  cemeteries  and  alleys,  are  all  that  are 
to  be  seen.  Then  it  is  good  to  see  Stamboul  from  the  heights 
of  Pera  and  Galata.  The  innumerable  lighted  windows,  the 
lights  of  the  ships,  their  reflections  in  the  water,  and  the  stars 
form  an  immense  extent  of  fiery  points  in  which  the  port,  the 
city  and  the  sky  are  all  confounded  in  one  great  firmament. 
And  when  the  heavens  are  clouded  and  the  moon  shines  in  one 
small  clear  space,  above  the  darkness  of  Stamboul,  above  the 
black  masses  of  groves  and  gardens,  the  Imperial  mosques 
shine  white,  like  enormous  marble  tombs,  and  the  city  resembles 
a  metropolis  of  giants.  But  it  is  even  more  beautiful  and  sol- 
emn in  the  starless  and  moonless  nights  at  the  hour  when  all 
lights  are  extinguished.  Then  there  is  one  vast  black  mass  from 
Seraglio  Point  to  Eyub,  a  measureless  outline  in  which  the  hills 


NIGHT.  I3I 

seem  mountains,  and  the  infinitude  of  points  that  crown  them 
take  the  appearance  of  fantastic  forests,  or  of  armies,  ruins,  cas- 
tles, and  rocks,  that  carry  the  mind  into  the  region  of  dreams. 
On  such  dark  nights  it  is  pleasant  to  contemplate  Stamboul 
from  some  high  terrace  and  give  oneself  up  to  fancy ;  to  pen- 
etrate in  thought  into  the  great  dark  city,  to  uncover  the  myr- 
iads of  harems  lighted  by  faint  lamps,  to  see  the  beauties  that 
triumph,  and  those  that  weep  neglected,  and  the  trembling 
eunuchs  listening  at  doors  ;  to  follow  nocturnal  lovers  through  the 
labyrinths  of  alleys ;  to  wander  in  the  silent  galleries  of  the 
Grand  Bazaar,  and  in  the  vast  deserted  cemeteries  ;  to  lose 
oneself  in  the  midst  of  the  innumerable  columns  of  the  great 
underground  cisterns  ;  to  imagine  oneself  shut  up  alone  in  the 
gigantic  mosque  of  Soliman,  and  making  the  dark  nave  re- 
sound with  cries  of  fear  and  horror,  tearing  your  hair  and 
invoking  the  mercy  of  God  ;  and  then  all  at  once  to  exclaim  : — 
What  a  joke  !  I  am  on  my  friend  Santoro's  terrace,  and  in  the 
room  below  awaits  me  a  supper  of  sybarites,  composed  of  all 
the  most  agreeable  people  in  Pera. 


132  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


LIFE  AT   CONSTANTINOPLE. 

In  the  house  of  my  good  friend  Santoro,  there  assembled 
every  evening  a  number  of  Italians  ;  lawyers,  artists,  doctors, 
merchants,  with  whom  the  time  passed  delightfully.  Those  were 
indeed,  conversazione  !  If  they  could  have  been  stenographed,  a 
charming  book  might  have  been  produced  from  them  !  The 
physician  who  had  visited  a  harem,  the  artist  who  had  been  on  the 
Bosphorus'to  paint  a  pasha's  portrait,  the  lawyer  who  had  been 
defending  a  cause  before  a  tribunal,  each  told  his  story,  and 
every  one  was  a  sketch  of  Oriental  manners.  There  was  a  new 
one  every  minute.  "  Do  you  know  what  happened  this  morn- 
ing ?  The  Sultan  threw  an  inkstand  at  the  head  of  the  minis- 
ter of  finance."  "Have  you  heard  the  news?  The  government, 
after  three  months  delay,  has  finally  paid  the  salaries  of  its  em- 
ployees, and  all  Galata  is  inundated  with  copper  money." 
Another  tells  how  a  Turkish  president  of  a  tribunal,  irritated  by 
the  weak  reasoning  of  a  bad  French  lawyer  in  his  defence  of  a 
bad  cause,  paid  him  this  pretty  compliment  in  the  presence  of 
the  audience—"  My  dear  advocate,  it  is  useless  your  losing 
your  breath  in  this  way,  in  striving  to  make  your  cause  a  good 

one  ; "  and  here  he  pronounced  Cambronne's  word  with  all 

its  letters,  "  however  you  may  turn  it  back  and  forth  is  always 
"  and  he  pronounced  the  word  a  second  time.* 

*  The  translator  follows  the  author,  who  leaves  Cambronne's  word  in 
blank  as  above. 


LIFE  AT  CONSTANTINOPLE.  1 33 

The  conversation,  naturally,  spread  over  fields  quite  unknown 
to  me.  With  the  same  frequency  with  which  occur  among  us 
the  names  of  Paris,  Vienna,  or  Genoa,  came  in  the  names  of 
persons  and  things  in  Tiflis,  Trebizond,  Teheran,  and  Damas- 
cus, and  one  had  a  friend  there,  and  another  had  been  there, 
and  a  third  was  going  there  ;  I  felt  myself  in  another  world,  and 
new  horizons  opened  all  around  me,  and  sometimes  I  thought 
regretfully  of  the  day  in  which  I  must  go  back  into  the  narrow 
circle  of  my  ordinary  life.  How  can  I,  I  said  to  myself,  ever 
adapt  myself  again  to  the  usual  talk  on  the  usual  subjects? 
All  Europeans  in  Constantinople  must  feel  this  ;  for  to  those 
who  have  seen  this  life,  every  other  appears  uniform  and  color- 
less. It  is  a  lighter,  easier,  younger  life  than  that  of  any  city 
in  Europe.  Living  as  though  encamped  in  a  strange  land,  in 
the  midst  of  a  constant  succession  of  strange  and  unforeseen 
events,  one  acquires  a  certain  sentiment  of  the  futility  and  in- 
stability of  all  things,  which  resembles  very  much  the  fatalistic 
faith  of  the  Mussulmans,  and  a  kind  of  serenity  of  mind  without 
reflection  is  the  result.  The  nature  of  that  people  that  lives,  as 
the  poet  says,  in  a  kind  of  familiar  intimacy  with  death,  consid- 
ering life  as  merely  a  pilgrimage,  so  short  as  to  leave  no  time 
nor  need  for  laying  plans  of  labor  and  fatigue,  enters  little  by 
little  into  the  European,  and  he  also  begins  to  live  from  day  to 
da}T,  without  descending  too  much  into  himself,  and  filling,  in 
the  world,  as  far  as  it  is  possible  for  him  to  do  so,  the  simple  and 
easy  part  of  spectator.  To  have  to  do  with  a  people  so  differ- 
ent, and  to  think  and  talk  as  they  do,  gives  a  kind  of  lightness 
to  the  spirit,  that  makes  it  soar  above  many  sentiments  and 
ideas  which,  among  us  in  our  own  country,  are  so  many  neces- 


1 34  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

sities  in  our  conformity  with  the  world  about  us,  and  which  we 
strive  anxiously  and  eagerly  to  obtain.  Besides,  the  presence 
of  the  Mussulman  population  is  a  constant  source  of  curiosity 
and  observation,  and  a  daily  spectacle  which  diverts  the  mind 
from  many  thoughts  and  cares.  The  form  of  the  city  also  is 
more  pleasing  than  that  of  our  cities  can  be,  in  which  the  eye 
and  thought  are  imprisoned  in  a  narrow  circle  of  streets  and 
houses  ;  while  there,  at  every  step,  eye  and  mind  dart  into  the 
immense  and  smiling  distance.  And  finally,  there  is  an  illim- 
itable liberty  of  life,  the  result  of  the  great  variety  of  customs 
and  manners  ;  there  everything  can  be  done,  and  no  one  is  as- 
tonished ;  the  echoes  of  the  strangest  events  die  as  they  are 
born  in  that  immensity  of  moral  anarchy  ;  Europeans  live  there 
as  if  in  a  republican  confederation  ;  they  enjoy  the  same  freedom 
that  they  might  enjoy  in  their  own  cities  at  the  moment  of  some 
great  political  convulsion  ;  it  is  like  an  interminable  masked 
ball  or  a  perpetual  carnival.  For  this,  even  more  than  for  its 
beauty,  Constantinople  is  a  city  that  can  not  be  inhabited  for 
any  length  of  time,  without  leaving  in  the  mind  a  remembrance 
that  turns  to  something  very  like  home-sickness ;  and  conse- 
quently Europeans  love  it  ardently,  and  take  root  in  it ;  and  it 
is  in  this  sense  that  the  Turks  call  it,  "The  enchantress  of  many 
lovers,"  or  say  in  their  proverb,  that  he  who  has  drunk  the 
waters  of  Top-hane,  is  in  love  for  life — there  is  no  remedy. 


ITALIANS.  135 


ITALIANS. 

The  Italian  colony  is  one  of  the  most  numerous  in  Con- 
stantinople ;  but  not  one  of  the  most  prosperous.  There  are 
many  rich  men,  but  also  many  very  poor  ones,  especially  work- 
men from  Southern  Italy  who  cannot  find  work;  and  it  is  also 
the  worst  represented  of  any  of  the  colonies  in  point  of  news- 
papers, because  they  are  only  born  to  die.  When  I  was  there, 
they  were  expecting  the  appearance  of  the  Levantino;  and  a 
specimen  number  had  been  put  forth  which  announced  the 
academic  titles  and  the  special  merits  of  the  editor  :  seventy- 
seven  in  all,  without  counting  modesty  as  one.  Taking  a  walk 
on  a  Sunday  morning  in  the  street  of  Pera,  one  can  see  all  the 
Italian  families  going  to  mass,  and  hear  all  the  dialects  of  Italy 
spoken.  Sometimes  I  was  pleased,  but  not  always.  Sometimes 
I  felt  compassion  for  so  many  of  my  fellow-citizens  expatriated, 
many  of  whom  had  no  doubt  been  blown  there  by  who  knows 
what  strange  or  stormy  wind  of  circumstance ;  I  was  pained  at 
the  sight  of  those  old  people  who  would  never  see  Italy  again ; 
those  children,  for  whom  its  name  could  only  produce  a  con- 
fused and  fleeting  image  of  a  dear  and  distant  country  ;  those 
young  girls,  many  of  whom  would  marry  men  of  another  na- 
tionality, and  found  families  where  nothing  of  Italian  would  re- 
main but  the  name  and  the  memory  of  the  mother.  I  saw 
beautiful  Genoese  women  who  might  have  come  that  moment 


1 36  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

from  the  gardens  of  Acquasola,  pretty  Neapolitan  faces,  saucy 
little  heads,  that  seemed  as  familiar  to  me  as  if  I  had  met  them 
a  hundred  times  under  the  porticoes  of  the  Po,  or  in  the  gallery 
Victor  Emmanuel  at  Milan.  I  should  have  liked  to  tie  them 
all  together,  two  and  two,  with  knots  of  rose-colored  ribbon, 
and  send  them  oft"  to  Italy  in  a  ship  sailing  fifteen  knots  an 
hour.  As  a  curiosity  I  should  have  liked  also  to  carry  back  to 
Italy  a  specimen  of  the  Italian  language  as  I  heard  it  spoken 
at  Pera,  by  the  Italians  of  the  colony,  more  especially  the  third 
and  fourth  generation.  A  della-Cruscan  academician  hearing 
them  would  have  taken  to  his  bed  with  a  tertian  ague.  The 
tongue  that  might  be  made  by  mixing  together  the  dialect  of  a 
Piedmontese  porter,  a  Lombard  fruit-seller,  and  a  Romagnol 
carter  would,  I  think,  be  less  horrible  than  that  which  is  spoken 
on  the  shores  of  the  Golden  Horn.  It  is  an  already  bastard 
Italian  mingled  with  four  or  five  other  tongues  bastardized  also. 
And  the  most  curious  thing  about  it  is  that  in  the  midst  of  the 
infinite  barbarisms,  there  shines  out  now  and  then  some  chosen 
word  or  cultivated  phrase,  records  of  the  anthology  with  which 
many  of  our  worthy  compatriots  seek  to  keep  their  mouths  in 
the  habit  of  the  "  Celestial  Tuscan  speech."  But  compared  to 
others  these  may  pretend,  as  Cesari  said,  to  the  fame  of  good 
speakers.  There  are  some  who  can  scarcely  make  themselves 
understood.  One  day  I  was  accompanied  somewhere  by  a  lad 
of  sixteen  or  seventeen,  the  son  of  an  Italian,  born  at  Pera. 
On  the  way  I  tried  to  converse,  but  he  seemed  not  to  wish  to 
talk.  He  answered  in  a  low  voice,  with  short  words,  holding 
down  his  head,  and  blushing. 
"What  is  the  matter?  "  said  I. 


ITALIANS.  137 

"  I  speak  so  badly  !  "  he  replied,  sighing.  In  fact  he  did 
speak  the  oddest  Italian,  full  of  deformed  and  incomprehensi- 
ble words,  resembling  the  so-called  lingua-franca,  which,  ac- 
cording to  some  French  joker,  consists  of  a  certain  number  of 
words  and  phrases  in  Italian,  Spanish,  French,  and  Greek, 
that  tumble  out  rapidly  one  after  the  other  until  one  at  length 
appears  that  may  be  understood  by  the  person  listening.  It  is 
not  necessary,  however,  to  resort  to  this  at  Pera,  where  almost 
everybody,  Turks  included,  understands  a  little  Italian.  The 
language  most  commonly  used  for  writing,  however,  is  the 
French.  Italian  literature  there  is  none.  I  remember  only 
having  one  day  discovered  at  the  bottom  of  a  commercial  news- 
paper in  a  cafe  at  Galata,  written  partly  in  Italian  and  partly 
in  French,  eight  melancholic  little  verses,  which  treated  of 
zephyrs,  stars,  and  sighs.  Oh,  poor  poet !  I  seemed  to  see 
him  buried  under  a  pile  of  merchandise,  and  exhaling  in  those 
verses  his  last  breath. 


133  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


THEATRES. 

At  Constantinople,  any  one  who  has  a  strong  stomach  may 
pass  the  evening  at  the  theatre,  and  may  have  his  choice  among 
a  crowd  of  small  theatres  of  every  sort,  many  of  which  have  gar- 
dens and  beer-shops  attached  to  them,  and  in  some  may  be 
found  the  Italian  comedy,  and  a  crew  of  Italian  actors  who 
leave  much  to  be  desired.  The  Turks,  however,  frequent  in 
preference  the  places  in  which  certain  French  actresses,  painted, 
half  naked,  and  all  brazen,  sing  their  double-meaning  songs 
with  the  accompaniment  of  an  execrable  orchestra.  One  of 
these  theatres  was  the  Alhambra,  in  the  principal  street  of 
Pera ;  a  long  hall,  always  full,  and  red  with  fezes  from  the  stage 
to  the  door.  What  these  songs  were,  and  with  what  unimagin- 
able gestures,  those  intrepid  ladies  made  their  meaning  clear 
to  the  delighted  Turks,  no  words  can  convey.  Only  those  who 
have  been  at  the  Capellanes  theatre  in  Madrid,  can  say  that 
they  have  seen  or  heard  anything  like  it.  At  ail  the  most  im- 
pudent gestures,  or  highly  spiced  jokes,  the  big  Turks,  seated 
in  long  rows,  burst  into  loud  roars  of  laughter  ;  and  the  habit- 
ual mask  of  dignity  falling  from  their  faces,  the  depths  of  their 
real  nature  and  the  secrets  of  their  grossly  sensual  lives  become 
visible. 

And  yet  there  is  nothing  that  the  Turk  hides  so  carefully  as 
the  sensuality  of  his  nature  and  his  life.     In  the  streets,  he  is 


THEATRES.  1 39 

rarely  accompanied  by  a  woman  ;  rarely  looks  at  one  j  still 
more  rarely  speaks  to  one  ;  he  takes  it  as  an  offence  if  any  one 
asks  after  the  health  of  his  wife  :  to  judge  only  by  appearances, 
they  seem  the  most  austere  and  chastest  people  in  the  world. 
But  that  same  Turk  who  blushes  to  his  ears  when  asked  about 
his  wife,  will  send  his  children,  boys  and  girls,  to  witness  the 
filthy  obscenities  of  Caragheus,  corrupting  their  imaginations 
before  their  senses  are  awakened  ;  and  he  himself  will  often 
forget  the  delights  of  his  harem  in  such  pleasures  as  Bajazet  the 
Fiery,  and  Mahomet  the  Reformer  set  the  example  of,  and  others, 
no  doubt,  since  their  time.  And  if  there  were  no  other,  Carag- 
heus alone  is  enough  to  give  an  idea  and  a  proof  of  the  pro- 
found corruption  hidden  under  the  veil  of  Mussulman  austerity. 
He  is  a  grotesque  figure  representing  a  caricature  of  the  middle 
class  Turk,  a  species  of  ombre-chinoise,  that  moves  his  head  and 
limbs  behind  a  transparent  veil,  and  is  always  the  principal  per- 
sonage in  certain  outrageously  farcical  comedies,  of  which  the 
subject  is  most  generally  an  amorous  intrigue.  He  is  a  sort  of 
ultra-Pulcinella,  very  much  depraved  ;  foolish,  false,  and  cyni- 
cal, foul-mouthed  as  a  fish-wife  and  wanton  as  a  satyr,  and  he 
excites  yells  of  laughter  and  shouts  of  enthusiasm  in  his  audi- 
ence, with  every  sort  of  extravagance  of  word  or  gesture,  that 
are  obscene  or  that  conceal  obscenity. 


1 40  CONS  TA  N  TINOPLE. 


COOKERY. 

Wishing  to  make  a  study  of  the  Turkish  kitchen,  I  caused 
my  good  friends  of  Pera  to  conduct  me  to  an  eating-house  ad 
hoc,  where  we  should  find  Oriental  dishes,  from  the  most  exqui- 
site tit-bit  of  the  Seraglio,  down  to  camels'  flesh  dressed  in  Arab 
fashion,  and  horse-flesh  a  la  Turkoman.  My  friend  Santoro 
ordered  a  rigorously  Turkish  repast,  from  soup  to  fruit,  and  I, 
encouraging  myself  with  the  recollection  of  all  the  renowned 
men  who  have  died  for  science,  swallowed  a  little  bit  of  every- 
thing, without  uttering  a  complaint.  About  twenty  dishes  were 
served.  The  Turks,  like  most  Eastern  people,  are  something 
like  children,  who  prefer  rather  to  taste  many  things  than  to 
satisfy  themselves  on  few;  a  pastoral  people  but  yesterday,  they 
have  become  citizens,  and  disdain  simplicity  in  eating,  as  some- 
thing that  savors  of  a  base  condition.  I  cannot  give  an  exact 
account  of  all  the  dishes,  because,  of  some  I  only  retained  a 
vague  and  sinister  remembrance.  I  recollect  the  Rebat  which 
is  composed  of  tiny  bits  of  mutton  roasted  before  a  very  hot  fire, 
seasoned  with  pepper  and  cloves,  and  sewed  between  two  soft 
and  greasy  cakes  ;  a  dish  good  to  give  criminals  of  the  lighter 
order.  I  can  recall  also  the  flavor  of  the  pilau,  composed  of 
rice  and  mutton,  which  last  is  the  sine  qua  non  of  all  meals,  and 
may  be  called  the  sacramental  dish  of  the  Turks,  as  is  macca- 
roni  to  the  Neapolitans,  cassusu  to  the  Arabs,  and  puchero  to  the 


COOKERY.  141 

Spaniards.  I  remember,  and  it  is  the  only  thing  that  I  should 
care  to  taste  again,  the  JRosb'ab  which  is  sipped  with  a  spoon  at 
the  end  of  dinner  ;  made  of  raisins,  apples,  plums,  cherries  and 
other  fruits,  cooked  with  a  great  deal  of  sugar,  and  flavored 
with  musk,  rose  water,  and  limes.  There  were  besides  numerous 
plates  of  lamb  and  mutton,  cut  into  small  dice  and  broiled 
until  they  had  no  taste  left ;  fish  swimming  in  oil  ;  balls  of 
rice  rolled  in  vine  leaves,  squash  reduced  to  a  syrup,  salads  in 
paste,  preserves  of  various  kinds,  ragouts  seasoned  with  every 
sort  of  aromatic  herb,  of  which  one  might  have  been  added  to 
every  article  in  the  penal  code  for  the  benefit  of  delinquents. 
Finally,  a  great  dish  of  pastry,  crowning  work  of  some  Arab 
pastry-cook,  in  which  there  was  a  small  steamer,  a  chimerical 
lion,  and  a  sugar-house  with  grated  windows. 

Altogether  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  swallowed  the  con- 
tents of  a  portable  pharmacy,  or  had  eaten  one  of  those  repasts 
that  are  prepared  by  children  in  their  play,  when  the  dishes  are 
chiefly  composed  of  powdered  brick,  pounded  grass,  and 
mashed  fruit,  which  make  a  fine  show  at  a  distance.  The 
dishes  at  a  Turkish  dinner  are  served  rapidly,  three  or  four  at 
a  time,  and  the  Turks  help  themselves  with  their  fingers,  there 
being  no  forks  in  use,  only  spoons  and  knives;  and  there  is 
but  one  drinking  cup  for  all  the  company,  which  a  servant  keeps 
constantly  filled  with  filtered  water.  Suqh,  however,  were  not 
the  ways  of  the  Turks  who  dined  near  us  at  our  eating-house. 
They  were  Turks  who  loved  their  ease,  for  they  kept  their  feet 
upon  the  table  j  each  one  had  his  plate,  and  bravely  used  a 
fork;  and  they  also  drank  strong  drink  in  the  face  and  beard 
of  Mahomet.     I  observed  that  they  did  not  kiss  their  bread  as 


142  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

good  Mussulmans  should,  before  beginning  to  eat,  and  that 
they  cast  many  covetous  glances  at  our  bottles,  although  ac- 
cording to  mufti  law,  it  is  a  mortal  sin  to  fix  the  eyes  upon  a 
bottle  of  wine.  However,  this  "father  of  abominations,"  one 
drop  of  which  is  enough  to  cause  to  fall  upon  a  Mussulman 
head,  "  the  anathema  of  all  the  angels  of  heaven  and  earth,"  is 
every  day  gaining  converts  among  the  Turks,  and  it  is  perhaps 
only  some  remaining  respect  for  opinion  that  prevents  them 
from  rendering  public  homage  to  it  ;  and  for  my  own  part,  I 
believe,  that  if  some  day  a  thick  darkness  should  descend  over 
Constantinople,  and  after  an  hour,  the  sun  should  suddenly 
shine  out,  fifty  thousand  Turks  would  be  found  with  the  bottle 
at  their  lips.  In  this  as  in  many  other  offences  of  the  Osmanli, 
the  great  stone  of  scandal  had  been  the  Sultans;  and  it  is  cu- 
rious that  it  has  been  precisely  the  dynasty  reigning  over  a 
people  for  whom  it  is  a  sin  against  God  to  drink  wine,  that  has 
given  to  history  the  largest  number  of  drunkards:  so  sweet  is 
forbidden  fruit  even  to  the  lips  of  the  shadow  of  God  upon 
earth.  It  was,  they  say,  Bajazet  First  who  began  the  series  of 
imperial  sots,  and  as  in  original  sin,  the  woman  here  also  was 
the  first  sinner:  it  was  the  wife  of  this  same  Bajazet,  daughter 
of  a  king  of  Servia,  who  offered  to  her  husband  the  first  glass 
of  Tokay.  Then  the  second  Bajazet  got  tipsy  on  Cypress  and 
Schiraz  wine.  Then  Soliman  First,  who  burned  in  the  port  of 
Constantinople  all  the  vessels  loaded  with  wine,  and  poured 
melted  lead  down  the  throats  of  drinkers,  died  drunk,  by  the 
arrow  of  one  of  his  archers.  Then  came  Selim  First,  surnamed 
Messth,  or  the  drunkard,  who  had  orgies  of  three  days  in  dura- 
tion, and  publicly  touched  glasses  with   men  of  the  law,  and 


COOKER  Y.  I  43 

men  of  the  church.  In  vain  Mahomet  Third  thundered 
against  the  "abomination  of  the  demon  ;"  in  vain  Ahmed  First 
destroyed  all  the  taverns,  and  all  the  wine-presses  in  Stamboul ; 
in  vain  Murad  Fourth  went  about  the  city  accompanied  by  an 
executioner,  and  promptly  sheared  off  the  heads  of  those  found 
drunk.  He  himself,  the  ferocious  hypocrite,  staggered  about 
the  halls  of  the  Seraglio  like  a  tipsy  plebeian  ;  and  after  him, 
the  bottle,  the  small,  black,  festive  spirits,  broke  into  the  Se- 
raglio, hid  itself  in  the  shops,  peeped  from  under  the  soldier's 
bed,  or  poked  its  silvered  or  purple  head  from  the  cushions 
and  divans  of  the  harem,  violated  the  precincts  of  the  mosques, 
and  spouted  its  sacrilegious  foam  upon  the  yellow  pages  of  the 
Koran  itself. 


144  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


MAHOMET. 

Apropos  of  religion,  I  could  not  get  this  question  out  of  my 
head,  as  I  walked  about  Constantinople :  if  the  voice  of  the 
muezzin  were  not  heard,  how  would  a  Christian  know  that  this 
people's  religion  was  not  the  same  as  his  own  ?  The  Byzantine 
architecture  of  the  mosques  makes  them  appear  like  Christian 
churches  ;  there  is  no  exterior  sign  of  the  rites  of  Islamism  ; 
Turkish  soldiers  escort  the  viaticum  through  the  streets ;  an  ig- 
norant Christian  might  live  a  year  at  Constantinople  without 
being  aware  that  Mahomet  reigns  over  the  greater  part  of  the 
population,  instead  of  Christ.  And  this  thought  always  brings 
me  to  the  very  small  substantial  differences,  the  blade  of  grass, 
as  the  Abyssinian  Christians  said  to  the  first  followers  of  Ma- 
homet, that  divides  the  two  religions  ;  and  to  the  little  cause  by 
which  it  came  about  that  Arabia  was  converted  to  Islamism,  in- 
stead of  to  Christianity,  or,  if  not  Christianity,  to  a  religion  so 
closely  resembling  it,  that  cities  being  confounded  with  it,  or 
remaining  itself  alone,  it  would  have  changed  the  fate  of  the 
whole  Oriental  world.  And  that  little  cause  was  the  volup- 
tuous nature  of  a  handsome  Arab  boy,  tall  and  fair,  with  black 
eyes,  a  deep  voice,  and  an  ardent  soul,  who,  not  having  the 
power  to  conquer  his  own  senses,  instead  of  cutting  down  to 
the  root  the  predominating  vice  of  his  people,  contented  himself 
with  pruning  it ;  instead  of  proclaiming  conjugal  unity  as  he 


MAHOMET.  145 

proclaimed  the  unity  of  God,  only  enclosed  in  a  narrower  circle, 
and  consecrated  by  religion,  the  dissoluteness  and  egotism  of 
men.  Certainly  he  would  have  had  to  vanquish  a  very  strong 
resistance  ;  but  it  does  not  seem  improbable  that  he  could  have 
done  so,  since,  in  order  to  found  the  worship  of  one  God  among 
an  idolatrous  people,  he  destroyed  a  monstrous  edifice  of  tra- 
dition, superstition,  privileges  and  interests  of  every  kind, 
which  had  grown  and  interlaced  for  centuries,  and  caused  to  be 
accepted  among  the  dogmas  of  his  religion  for  which  millions 
of  believers  would  now  lay  down  their  lives,  a  paradise,  the  first 
announcement  of  which  provoked  a  storm  of  indignation  and 
scorn  among  the  people.  But  the  handsome  Arab  boy  made  a 
compact  with  his  senses,  and  half  the  world  changed  its  face, 
for  polygamy  was  in  reality  the  capital  vice  of  his  legislation,  and 
the  first  cause  of  the  decadence  of  all  the  peoples  that  embraced 
his  faith.  Without  this  degradation  of  one  sex  in  favor  of  the 
other,  without  the  sanction  of  this  monstrous  injustice,  which 
disturbs  the  whole  order  of  human  duties,  corrupting  the  rich, 
oppressing  the  poor,  fomenting  sloth  and  effeminacy,  enerva- 
ting the  family,  generating  confusion  in  the  rights  of  birth  of 
the  reigning  dynasty,  and  opposing  itself  as  an  insuperable 
barrier  to  the  union  of  the  Mussulman  populations  with  those 
of  another  faith  in  the  Orient ;  if,  to  return  to  the  first  argument, 
the  handsome  Arab  boy  had  had  the  misfortune  to  be  born  a 
little  less  robust,  or  the  courage  to  live  a  chaste  life,  who  knows ! 
perhaps  there  would  be  now  a  regulated  and  civilized  East,  and 
universal  civilization  would  be  one  century  further  in  advance. 
7 


H6  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


RAMAZAN. 

Finding  myself  at  Constantinople  in  the  month  of  Ramazan, 
which  is  the  ninth  month  of  the  Turkish  year,  in  which  falls  the 
Mussulman  season  of  Lent,  I  witnessed  every  evening  a  comedy 
which  is  worth  description.  During  the  who'e  of  Lent  it  is  pro- 
hibited to  the  Turks  to  eat,  drink,  or  smoke,  from  the  rising  of 
the  sun  to  the  setting.  Almost  all,  consequently,  spend  the 
night  in  eating  and  drinking ;  but  as  long  as  the  sun  is  above 
the  horizon,  almost  all  respect  the  religious  precept,  and  no  one 
dares  to  transgress  it  publicly.  One  morning  my  friend  and  I 
went  to  visit  an  acquaintance,  one  of  the  Sultan's  aid-de-camps, 
an  unprejudiced  young  officer,  and  we  found  him  in  a  room  on 
the  ground  floor  of  the  imperial  palace,  with  a  cup  of  coffee  in 
his  hand.  "What!"  exclaimed  Yank,  "do  you  dare  to  take 
coffee  after  sunrise  ?"  The  officer  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
replied  that  he  laughed  at  Ramazan  and  fasting  ;  but  just  at 
that  moment  a  door  opened  suddenly,  and  he  made  so  rapid  a 
movement  to  hide  his  cup  that  he  overturned  it,  and  spilt  it  on 
his  boot.  It  may  be  understood  from  this  how  rigorous  is  the 
abstinence  imposed  upon  those  who  are  all  day  long  under  the 
eyes  of  others  ;  the  boatmen,  for  instance.  It  is  amusing  to 
plant  oneself  upon  the  bridge  of  the  Sultan  Valide  a  few  min- 
utes before  the  sun  goes  down.  About  a  thousand  boatmen 
may  be  seen  at  this  point,  far  and  near,  going  and  coming,  or 

* 


RAMAZAN.  I47 

sitting  still.  They  have  every  one  been  fasting  since  dawn,  are 
wild  with  hunger,  and  have  their  little  supper  ready  in  the 
caique,  and  their  eyes  continually  move  from  the  food  to  the 
sun,  from  the  sun  to  the  food,  while  there  is  a  general  agitation 
and  restlessness  among  them,  as  in  a  menagerie  when  the  ani- 
mals are  about  to  be  fed.  The  disappearance  of  the  sun  is  an- 
nounced by  a  gun.  Before  that  longed-for  moment  no  one  puts 
a  crust  of  bread  or  a  drop  of  water  into  his  mouth.  Sometimes, 
in  a  corner  of  the  Golden  Horn,  we  tried  to  bribe  our  boatmen 
to  eat  before  the  lawful  moment,  but  they  always  answered  ; 
lok  /  Iokl  Iok  !  no!  no!  no!  pointing  to  the  sun  with  «  tim- 
orous gesture.  When  the  sun  is  half  hidden,  they  begin  to  take 
the  food  in  their  hands  ;  when  there  is  nothing  but  a  thin  lumi- 
nous arch,  then  those  who  are  motionless,  and  those  who  are 
rowing,  those  who  are  crossing  the  Golden  Horn  and  those  who 
are  skimming  over  the  Bosphorus,  those  who  are  sailing  in  the 
Sea  of  Marmora,  and  those  who  are  resting  in  the  most  solitary 
bays  of  the  Asiatic  shore,  all  with  one  accord  turn  towards  the 
west  and  stand  fixed,  with  their  eyes  on  the  sun,  mouths  open, 
bread  in  hand,  and  joy  in  the  visage.  When  nothing  is  visible 
but  one  small  fiery  point,  at  last  the  fiery  point  vanishes,  the 
cannon  thunders,  and  in  that  very  instant  thirty-two  thousand 
teeth  bite  off  enormous  morsels  from  a  thousand  pieces  of  bread  ; 
but  what  am  I  sayiug  ?  A  thousand  !  In  every  house,  in  every 
cafe,  in  every  tavern  the  same  thing  is  happening  at  the  same 
moment ;  and  for  a  few  minutes  the  Turkish  city  is  nothing  but 
a  monster  with  a  hundred  thousand  mouths,  that  eats  and 
drinks. 


148  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


ANTIQUE   CONSTANTINOPLE. 

But  what  must  this  city  have  been  in  the  times  of  Ottoman 
glory !  I  cannot  get  that  thought  out  of  my  head.  Then,  over 
the  Bosphorus,  white  with  sails,  there  rose  no  black  smoke  to 
stain  the  azure  of  the  sky  and  sea.  In  the  port  and  harbor  of 
the  Sea  of  Marmora,  among  the  old  war-ships,  with  high  sculp- 
tured poops,  silver  crescents,  crimson  standards,  and  golden 
lanterns,  floated  the  shattered  and  blood-stained  hulks  of  Gen- 
oese, Venetian,  and  Spanish  galleys.  There  were  no  bridges 
over  the  Golden  Horn :  but  from  one  shore  to  the  other  per- 
petually darted  back  and  forth  a  myriad  of  splendid  boats, 
amidst  which  shone  the  white  lances  of  the  Seraglio,  with  can- 
opies of  scarlet  fringed  with  silver  and  gold,  and  rowed  by 
boatmen  in  silken  habits.  Scutari  was  yet  a  village  ;  from 
thence  to  Galata  there  were  only  a  few  scattered  houses ;  no 
great  palace  yet  reared  its  head  upon  the  hill  of  Pera;  the  as- 
pect of  the  city  was  not  as  grandiose  as  it  is  now,  but  it  was 
more  completely  Oriental.  The  law  which  prescribed  colors 
being  still  in  force,  the  religion  of  their  inhabitants  could  be 
known  by  the  colors  of  the  houses :  Stamboul  was  all  yellow 
and  red,  except  the  sacred  and  public  edifices,  which  were  as 
white  as  snow ;  the  Armenian  quarters  were  light  grey,  the 
Greek  quarters  dark  grey,  the  Hebrew,  purple.  The  passion 
for  flowers  was  universal,  as  in  Holland,  and  the  gardens  showed 


ANTIQUE   CONSTANTINOPLE.  1 49 

great  masses  of  hyacinths,  tulips,  and  roses.  The  luxuriant 
vegetation  of  the  hills  not  having  been  yet  destroyed  by  sub- 
urbs, Constantinople  appeared  a  city  hidden  in  a  forest.  With- 
in there  were  only  narrow  alleys,  but  they  were  pervaded  by  a 
crowd  in  the  highest  degree  picturesque. 

The  enormous  turban  gave  a  colossal  and  magnificent  as- 
pect to  the  male  population.  All  the  women,  except  the  mother 
of  the  Sultan,  went  completely  veiled,  leaving  nothing  but  the 
eyes  visible,  forming  an  anonymous  and  enigmatic  population 
apart,  and  giving  a  gentle  air  of  mystery  to  the  city.  A  severe 
law  determining  the  dress  of  all  ranks,  offices,  grades,  ages, 
they  could  be  distinguished  by  the  form  of  the  turban,  or  the 
color  of  the  caftan,  as  if  Constantinople  had  been  one  great 
court.  The  horse  being  still  "  man's  only  coach,"  the  streets 
were  filled  with  horsemen,  and  long  files  of  camels  and  drom- 
edaries belonging  to  the  army,  traversed  the  city  in  all  direc- 
tions and  gave  it  the  grand  and  barbarous  aspect  of  an  Asiatic 
metropolis.  Gilded  arabas  drawn  by  oxen,  crossed  the  green 
draped  carriages  of  the  ulemas,  the  red  of  the  Kadi-aschicri,  or 
the  light  teleka  with  satin  curtains  and  panels  ornamented  with 
fantastic  paintings.  Slaves  of  all  countries,  from  Poland  to 
Ethiopia,  hurried  by,  rattling  the  chains  that  had  been  riveted 
on  the  field  of  battle.  Groups  of  soldiers  clothed  only  in  glo- 
rious rags  filled  the  squares,  and  the  courts  of  the  mosques, 
showing  their  scars  yet  great  from  the  battles  of  Vienna.  Bel- 
grade, Rodi,  Damascus.  Hundreds  of  story  tellers,  with  loud 
voices  and  inspired  gestures,  recounted  to  delighted  Mussul- 
mans the  glorious  actions  of  the  army  that  was  fighting  at  three 
months  march  from  Stamboul.     Pashas,  Beys,  Aghas,  Mussel- 


150  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

ims,  a  crowd  of  dignitaries  and  great  nobles,  dressed  with 
theatrical  splendor,  accompanied  by  a  throng  of  servants, 
pushed  through  the  press  of  people  that  gave  way  before 
them  like  ripe  grain  before  the  wind ;  ambassadors  from 
European  states  passed  by,  coming  to  ask  peace  or  conclude 
alliances  ;  and  caravans  bringing  gifts  from  African  and  Asiatic 
monarchs  went  in  long  procession.  Throngs  of  insolent  selidars 
and  spahis  rattled  their  sabres  stained  with  the  blood  of  twenty 
peoples,  and  the  handsome  Greek  and  Hungarian  pages  of  the 
Seraglio,  dressed  like  princes,  walked  haughtily  among  the 
obsequious  multitude,  who  respected  in  them  the  unnatural 
caprices  of  their  sovereign.  Here  and  there  before  a  day  was 
seen  a  trophy  of  knotted  staves  :  it  was  the  sign  of  the  Janissa- 
ries, who  then  filled  the  office  of  police  in  the  interior  of  the 
city.  Hebrews,  bearing  the  bodies  of  executed  criminals  to 
the  Bosphorus,  were  to  be  seen  ;  and  every  morning  in  the 
Balik-bazaar,  could  be.  found  a  corpse  stretched  on  the  ground, 
with  the  severed  head  under  the  right  arm,  the  sentence  upon 
the  breast,  and  a  stone  upon  the  sentence ;  in  the  streets,  the 
bodies  of  nobles  hung  from  the  first  hook  or  beam  that  the 
hurried  executioner  had  found  ;  in  the  night  the  terrified  pas- 
senger came  upon  some  poor  wretch  thrown  into  the  street 
from  some  torture  chamber,  where  his  hands  and  feet  had  been 
cut  off;  and  under  the  noon-day  sun,  merchants  detected  in 
fraud  were  nailed  by  one  ear  to  the  doors  of  their  shops.  There 
was  as  yet  no  law  which  restricted  the  liberty  of  sepulture,  and 
graves  were  dug  and  the  dead  were  buried  at  any  hour  of  the 
day,  in  the  gardens,  in  the  alleys,  in  the  squares,  before  the 
doors  of  houses.     In  the  courts  could  be  heard  the  shrieks  of 


ANTIQUE   CONSTANTINOPLE.  151 

lambs  and  sheep  offered  in  holocaust  to  Allah  upon  a  birth  or 
a  circumcision.  From  time  to  time  a  troop  of  eunuchs  gal- 
loped by,  shouting  and  threatening,  and  the  streets  became  de- 
serted, doors  and  windows  closed,  the  whole  quarter  as  if  it 
were  dead ;  for  then  passed  by  the  train  of  glittering  carriages 
containing  the  beauties  of  the  Sultan's  harem,  filling  the  air 
with  their  laughter  and  perfumes.  Sometimes  a  personage  of 
the  court,  making  his  way  through  the  crowded  street,  would 
turn  suddenly  pale  at  the  sight  of  six  mean  looking  men  enter- 
ing a  shop :  those  six  men  were  the  Sultan,  with  four  officials 
and  an  executioner,  going  from  shop  to  shop  to  verify  weights 
and  measures.  In  all  Constantinople's  enormous  body  there 
boiled  a  plethoric  and  feverish  life.  The  treasure  overflowed 
with  jewels,  the  arsenals  with  arms,  the  barracks  with  soldiers, 
the  caravanserais  with  travellers ;  the  slave  markets  swarmed 
with  beauties,  dealers,  and  great  lords ;  learned  men  thronged 
the  places  where  the  archives  of  the  mosque  were  kept ;  long- 
winded  viziers  prepared  for  future  generations  the  interminable 
annals  of  the  Empire ;  poets,  pensioners  of  the  Seraglio,  sang 
at  the  baths  the  imperial  wars  and  loves ;  armies  of  Bulgarian 
and  Armenian  laborers  toiled  to  build  mosques  with  blocks  of 
granite  from  Egypt  or  marble  from  Paros,  while  by  sea  were 
arriving  columns  from  the  temples  of  the  Archipelago,  and  by 
land  the  spoils  of  the  churches  of  Pesth  and  Ofen ;  in  the  port 
they  made  ready  the  fleet  of  three  hundred  sails  that  was  to 
carry  dismay  to  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean  ;  between 
Stamboul  and  Adrianople  spread  cavalcades  of  seven  thousand 
falconers,  and  seven  thousand  huntsmen,  and  in  the  intervals 
of  military  revolts,  foreign  wars,  conflagrations  that  destroyed 


152  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

twenty  thousand  houses  in  one  night,  they  celebrated  feasts  of 
thirty  days  duration  before  the  plenipotentiaries  of  all  the  states 
of  Africa,  Europe  and  Asia.  Then  Mussulman  enthusiasm 
became  wild,  and  turned  to  madness.  In  the  presence  of  the 
Sultan  and  his  court,  in  the  midst  of  those  immeasurable  palms, 
filled  with  birds,  fruits,  and  looking-glasses,  to  give  passage  to 
which  whole  houses  and  walls  were  thrown  down,  among  trains 
of  lions  and  sirens  in  sugar,  carried  by  horses  caparisoned  in 
silver  damask  ;  among  mountains  of  royal  presents  gathered 
from  all  parts  of  the  Empire  and  from  all  the  courts  in  the 
world,  alternated  the  mock  battles  of  the  Janissaries,  the  furious 
dances  of  the  dervishes,  the  sanguinary  murders  of  Christian 
prisoners,  and  the  popular  feasts  of  ten  thousand  dishes  of 
Cascassa;  elephants  and  giraffes  danced  in  the  hippodrome; 
bears  and  foxes  rushed  through  the  crowd  with  rockets  tied  to 
their  tails ;  to  allegorical  pantomimes  succeeded  lascivious 
dances,  grotesque  maskings,  fantastic  processions,  races,  sym- 
bolical cars,  games,  and  comedies ;  as  the  sun  went  down  the 
festival  degenerated  more  and  more  into  a  mad  tumult,  and  five 
hundred  mosques  sparkling  with  lights  formed  over  the  city  an 
immense  aureole  of  fire  that  announced  to  the  shepherds  in  the 
mountains  of  Asia,  and  the  sailors  of  the  Propontis,  the  orgies 
of  the  new  Babylon.  Such  was  Stamboul,  the  formidable, 
voluptuous,  and  unbridled ;  beside  which  the  city  of  to-day  is 
nothing  but  an  old  queen  sick  of  hypochondria. 


THE  ARMENIANS.  1 53 


THE   ARMENIANS. 

Occupied  as  I  was  in  general  with  the  Turks,  I  had  not  the 
time,  as  may  be  supposed,  to  study  much  the  three  nations, 
Armenian,  Greek  and  Hebrew,  that  form  the  rest  of  the  popu- 
lation ;  a  study,  for  the  rest,  requiring  much  time  and  attention, 
since,  though  each  of  these  peoples  has  preserved  more  or  less 
its  own  characteristics,  the  exterior  life  of  all  the  three  has  be- 
come overlaid  with  a  Mussulman  color,  which  is  now  being 
merged  in  its  turn  into  a  tint  of  European  civilization  ;  and  con- 
sequently they  all  three  present  that  difficulty  of  observation 
that  might  be  found  in  a  shifting  and  dissolving  view. 

The  Armenians  in  especial,  "  Christians  in  faith  and  spirit, 
and  Asiatic  Mussulmans  in  birth  and  blood,"  are  not  only  diffi- 
cult to  study  closely,  but  also  difficult  to  distinguish  at  sight 
from  the  Turks,  because  those  among  them  who  have  not  yet 
adopted  European  costume,  still  wear  the  Turkish  dress  with 
very  slight  modifications ;  and  the  antique  felt  cap  that  with 
certain  special  colors  used  to  mark  the  race,  is  now  scarcely 
ever  seen.  Nor  do  they  differ  much  in  feature  from  the  Turks. 
In  general  they  are  tall  of  stature,  robust,  corpulent,  light  com- 
plexioned,  grave  and  dignified  in  walk  and  manner,  and  showing 
in  their  faces  the  two  qualities  proper  to  their  nature  ;  an  open, 
quick,  industrious,  and  pertinacious  spirit,  by  which  they  are 
wonderfully  well  adapted  to  commerce,  and  that  placidity,  which 
7* 


1 54  CONS  TANTINOPLE. 

some  call  pliant  servility,  with  which  they  succeed  in  insinuating 
themselves  everywhere,  from  Hungary  to  China,  and  in  render- 
ing themselves  acceptable,  particularly  to  the  Turk,  whose  good 
will  they  have  conquered  as  docile  subjects  and  obsequious 
friends.  They  have  neither  within  nor  without  any  trace  of 
warlike  or  heroic  qualities.  Such,  perhaps,  they  were  not  for- 
merly in  the  Asiatic  region  from  which  they  came,  and  their 
brethren  who  remain  there  are  said  to  be  quite  different ;  but 
the  transplanted  ones  are  truly  a  quiet  and  prudent  people, 
modest  in  their  lives,  having  no  ambition  beyond  their  traffic, 
and  more  sincerely  religious,  it  is  said,  than  any  other  people  in 
Constantinople.  The  Turks  call  them  the  camels  of  the  empire, 
and  the  Franks  say  that  every  Armenian  is  born  a  calculator  ; 
these  two  sayings  are  in  great  part  justified  by  the  facts,  for 
thanks  to  their  physical  strength,  and  their  quick  and  acute  in- 
telligence, they  not  only  furnish  Constantinople  with  a  large 
number  of  architects,  engineers,  physicians,  and  ingenious  and 
patient  artificers  of  many  kinds,  but  they  form  also  the  larger 
part  of  the  porters  and  bankers  ;  porters  that  carry  marvellous 
weights,  and  bankers  that  amass  fabulous  treasures.  At  first 
sight,  however,  no  one  would  notice  that  there  was  an  Arme- 
nian people  at  Constantinople,  so  completely  has  the  plant 
adapted  itself  to  the  strange  soil.  The  women  themselves,  be- 
cause of  whom  the  Armenian  houses  are  closed  against  the 
stranger  as  closely  as  those  of  the  Mussulmans,  dress  like  the 
Turkish  women,  and  none  but  an  experienced  eye  can  distin- 
guish them  from  their  Mahometan  neighbors.  They  are  for  the 
most  part  fair  and  fat,  and  have  the  aquiline  profile,  and  the 
large,  long-fringed  eyes  of  the  Orientals ;  tall  in  stature,  and  of 


THE  ARMENIANS.  1 55 

matronly  form,  when  crowned  with  a  turban  they  present  a 
handsome  and  dignified  appearance,  and  at  the  same  time  mod- 
est, lacking  only,  if  anything,  the  bright  intelligence  that  shines 
in  the  face  of  the  Greek  woman. 

It  is  as  easy  to  recognize  a  Greek  at  sight,  as  it  is  difficult 
to  distinguish  an  Armenian,  even  setting  aside  the  diversities 
of  dress,  so  different  is  he  in  nature  and  aspect  from  the  other 
subjects  of  the  Empire,  and  especially  so  from  the  Turk.  To 
become  aware  of  this  diversity,  or  rather  of  this  contrast,  it  is 
only  necessary  to  remark  a  Turk  and  a  Greek  seated  side  by 
side  in  a  cafe  or  in  a  steamboat.  They  may  be  of  the  same  age 
and  rank,  and  both  dressed  in  European  fashion,  and  even  alike 
in  feature  ;  but  it  is  not  possible  to  mistake  one  for  the 
other.  The  Turk  is  motionless,  and  all  his  lineaments  repose 
in  a  kind  of  quiet  without  thought,  like  that  of  a  ruminating 
animal ;  and  if  his  visage  does  reveal  a  thought,  it  appears  as 
though  it  should  be  motionless  like  his  body.  He  looks  at 
no  one,  and  gives  no  sign  of  being  conscious  of  the  observa- 
tion of  others  ;  his  attitude  displays  a  profound  indifference 
towards  everybody  and  everything  around  him  ;  his  face  ex- 
presses something  of  the  resigned  sadness  of  a  slave,  as  well  as 
the  proud  coldness  of  a  despot ;  something  hard,  repressed, 
shut  down,  to  drive  to  desperation  any  one  who  should  attempt 
the  impossible  task  of  persuasion,  or  should  try  to  change  a 
resolution.  He  has,  in  short,  the  aspect  of  those  men  all  in  one 
piece,  with  whom  one  can  live  only  as  master,  or  as  slave  ;  and 
however  long  may  be  the  time  you  live  with  them,  never  can 
become  familiar.  The  Greek  on  the  contrary,  is  very  mobile, 
and  reveals  in  a  thousand  changing  expressions  of  life  and.  eye 


1 56  CON  STAN  TINOPLE. 

everything  that  is  passing  through  his  mind  ;  he  tosses  his  head 
with  the  movement  of  a  spirited  horse ;  his  face  expresses  a 
sort  of  youthful,  sometimes  almost  childish  hauteur  ;  if  he  is 
not  observed,  he  puts  himself  forward ;  if  he  is  remarked,  he 
attitudinizes ;  he  seems  to  be  always  seeking  or  fancying  some- 
thing 3  his  whole  person  betrays  vanity  and  ambition ;  and  yet 
he  is  attractive,  even  if  he  looks  like  a  worthless  fellow,  and  you 
would  give  him  your  hand,  if  you  were  not  willing  to  trust  him 
with  your  purse.  It  is  only  necessary  to  see  these  two  men,  the 
Turk  and  the  Greek,  side  by  side,  in  order  to  comprehend  that 
one  must  appear  to  the  other  simply  a  barbarian,  a  proud,  bru- 
tal, overbearing  creature  ;  and  on  the  other  side,  the  latter  must 
judge  his  neighbor  to  be  a  light  man,  false,  malignant,  and  tur- 
bulent ;  and  that  they  must  detest  each  other  reciprocally  with 
all  the  strength  of  their  souls,  and  never  be  able  to  live  amica- 
bly together.  The  same  differences  are  to  be  noted  between  the 
Greek  women  and  the  other  Levantine  women.  Among  the 
handsome  and  florid  Turkish  and  Armenian  women,  who  speak 
to  the  senses  rather  than  the  soul,  we  recognize  with  a  sort  of 
pleasant  wonder,  the  elegant  and  pure  Greek  face,  lighted  up 
by  eyes  full  of  sentiment,  whose  every  glance  inspires  or  ought 
to  inspire  an  ode  ;  and  the  beautiful  figures,  at  once  slight  and 
majestic,  which  inspire  the  wish  to  clasp  them  in  one's  arm,  but 
to  place  upon  a  pedestal,  rather  than  to  shut  them  in  a  harem. 
There  are  some  who  still  wear  their  hair  in  the  ancient  fashion, 
falling  in  long,  rich  tresses,  with  one  thick  braid  wound  round 
the  head  like  a  diadem  ;  so  beautiful,  so  noble,  so  classic,  that 
they  might  be  taken  for  statues  by  Praxiteles  or  Lysippus,  or 
for  young  immortals  found  after  twenty  centuries  in  some  un- 


THE  ARMENIANS.  1 57 

known  valley  of  Laconia,  or  some  forgotten  island  of  the 
Egean.  This  sovereign  beauty  is  rare  however,  even  among 
the  Greeks,  and  now-a-days  almost  the  only  examples  of  it  are 
to  be  found  among  the  old  aristocracy  of  the  empire,  in  the 
silent  and  gloomy  quarter  of  the  Fanar,  where  the  soul  of 
ancient  Byzantium  has  found  refuge.  There  may  now  and  then 
still  be  seen  one  cf  these  superb  women  leaning  on  the  balus- 
trade of  a  balcony,  or  looking  through  the  gratings  of  some  high 
window,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  deserted  street,  like  some 
captive  queen  ;  and  when  the  lackeys  of  the  descendants  of  the 
Paleologhi  and  the  Comneni,  do  not  happen  to  be  lounging  at 
the  door,  one  may  contemplate  her  for  a  moment,  and  believe 
that  a  vision  of  a  goddess  of  Olympus  has  been  revealed 
through  the  rift  of  a  passing  cloud. 


1 5  8  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


THE    HEBREWS. 

With  regard  to  the  Hebrews,  I  can  affirm,  after  having  been 
in  Morocco,  that  those  of  Constantinople  have  no  connection 
with  those  on  the  southern  coast  of  Africa,  in  whom  learned  ob- 
servers believe  they  have  discovered  in  all  its  purity  the  first 
Oriental  type  of  Hebrew  beauty.  With  the  hope  of  discovering 
this  beauty  I  armed  myself  with  courage,  and  took  many  turns 
through  the  vast  ghetta  of  Balata,  which  winds  like  a  disgusting 
serpent  along  the  shore  of  the  Golden  Horn.  I  pushed  on  even 
into  the  most  wretched  alleys,  in  the  midst  of  houses  "  gromtnate 
di  muffa,  "  *  like  the  banks  in  the  Dantesque  circle,  through 
cross  ways,  where  I  wished  for  stilts,  and  stopped  my  nose ;  I 
looked  in  windows  tapestried  with  rags,  at  black  and  filthy 
rooms  ;  I  stopped  before  the  entrances  of  courts,  from  which 
issued  an  odor  fetid  enough  to  take  away  my  breath,  making 
way  before  groups  of  diseased  and  ugly  children,  elbowing  hor- 
rible old  men,  who  looked  like  resuscitated  corpses  dead  of  the 
plague  ;  stumbling  over  wretched  dogs,  and  avoiding  hanging 
clouds  of  dirty  linen  ;  but  my  courage  was  unrewarded.  Among 
the  many  women  whom  I  encountered,  muffled  in  the  national 
kalpak,  a  sort  of  lengthened  turban  that  covers  the  hair  and 
ears,  I  did  see  here  and  there  a  face  in  which  I  recognized  that 
delicate  regularity  of  feature,  and  that  soft  air  of  resignation, 
which  are  considered  distinctive  traits  of  the  Jews  of  Constanti- 
nople ;  some  vague  profile  of  Rebecca  or  Rachel,  with  almond 
*  Encrusted  with  mould. 


THE  HEBREWS.  1 59 

shaped  eyes,  full  of  grace  and  sweetness,  some  elegant  form  in 
Raphaelesque  costume  standing  in  a  doorway  with  its  hand  upon 
the  curly  head  of  a  child.  But  in  general  I  saw  nothing  but 
signs  of  the  degradation  of  the  race.  What  a  difference  between 
these  stunted  figures,  and  those  opulent  forms  in  pompous  col- 
ors, and  with  fiery  eyes,  that  I  admired  afterwards  in  Tangiers 
and  Fez.  It  was  the  same  with  the  men,  insignificant,  sal- 
low, flabby,  whose  vitality  seemed  to  be  centered  in  their  eyes, 
trembling  with  avarice  and  cunning,  restlessly  rolling  from  side 
to  side,  as  if  they  heard  everywhere  the  chink  of  coin.  And 
here  I  expect  from  my  good  critics  of  Israel,  who  have  already 
rapped  me  on  the  knuckles  apropos  of  my  opinion  of  their  co- 
religionists of  Morocco,  the  same  strain  as  before,  when  they  will 
ascribe  the  degradation  and  decay  of  the  Hebrews  of  Constan- 
tinople to  the  oppressions  and  injustice  of  their  Turkish  rulers. 
But  let  them  remember  that  under  precisely  the  same  conditions, 
political  and  civil,  as  the  Hebrews,  are  all  the  other  new 
Mussulman  subjects  of  the  Porte  ;  and  that  even  if  this  were 
not  so,  it  would  be  exceedingly  difficult  to  prove  that  the  shame- 
less uncleanliness,  the  precocious  marriages,  and  the  abstention 
from  all  laborious  trades,  considered  as  efficacious  causes  of 
this  decadence,  are  a  logical  consequence  of  the  want  of  liberty 
and  independence.  And  if  instead  they  tell  me  that  it  is  not 
the  political  oppression  of  the  Turks,  but  the  small  persecutions 
and  contempt  of  all,  which  are  the  causes  of  this  degradation, 
let  them  first  ask  themselves  whether  the  contrary  is  not  the  fact ; 
if  the  first  reason  is  not  rather  to  be  sought  in  their  customs  and 
in  their  lives ;  and  if,  instead  of  covering  up  the  sore,  it  were 
not  better  that  thev  themselves  should  burn  it  out  with  hot  irons. 


1 60  CON  ST  A  N  TINOPLE. 


THE  BATH. 

After  having  made  the  tour  of  Balata,  one  may  do  a  worse 
thing  than  visit  a  Turkish  bath.  The  bath  houses  may  be  rec- 
ognized by  their  exterior  ;  they  are  windowless  edifices  in  the 
form  of  small  mosques,  surmounted  by  a  cupola,  and  some  tall 
conical  chimneys,  which  are  always  smoking.  But  before  enter- 
ing, it  is  well  to  think  twice,  and  ask  oneself  quid  valeant  humeri, 
because  every  body  cannot  well  support  the  usage  to  which  a 
man  is  subjected  within  those  sanitary  walls.  I  confess,  that 
after  all  that  I  had  heard,  I  entered  with  some  trepidation  ;  and 
the  reader  will  see  that  I  was  much  to  be  pitied  afterwards.  As 
I  think  of  it  now,  two  large  drops  exude  upon  my  temples,  and 
wait  until  I  shall  be  in  the  midst  of  my  description,  to  run  down 
my  cheeks.  The  following  is  what  happened  to  my  unhappy 
self.  Entering  timidly,  I  found  myself  in  a  great  hall  that 
might  have  been  either  a  theatre  or  a  hospital.  In  the  midst 
bubbled  a  fountain,  crowned  with  flowers ;  and  around  the 
walls  ran  a  gallery  of  wood  in  which  profoundly  slept  or  peace- 
fully smoked,  a  number  of  Turks,  stretched  upon  mattresses, 
and  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  white  coverings.  While  I 
looked  about  in  search  of  an  attendant,  two  athletic  and  half- 
naked  mulattoes,  sprung  from  I  know  not  where,  suddenly  rose 
before  me  like  two  spectres,  and  both  together  pronounced  in 
cavernous  voices  the  word:  "  Hammamun  ?"  (bath?)  " EvvetT 
"  Yes  1"  replied  I  faintly.     They  signed  to  me  to  follow  them, 


THE  BATH.  l6l 

and  led  me  up  a  wooden  stairway  into  a  room  full  of  mats  and 
cushions,  where  they  made  me  understand  that  I  was  to  undress. 
They  bound  then  around  my  body  a  piece  of  blue  and  white 
stuff,  twisted  a  muslin  scarf  about  my  head,  made  me  slip  my 
feet  into  a  pair  of  colossal  wooden  pattens,  took  me  under 
the  arms  like  a  tipsy  man,  and  conducted  me,  or  rather 
transported  me,  into  another  hall,  warm  and  dimly  lighted, 
where  they  laid  me  down  upon  a  carpet  and  waited,  with  their 
hands  on  their  hips,  until  my  skin  should  have  become  soft. 
All  these  preparations,  which  rather  resembled  those  before  an 
execution,  filled  me  with  anxiety,  which  changed  to  an  even  less 
honorable  sentiment  when  my  two  jailors,  touching  me  on  the 
forehead,  exchanged  a  significant  look,  which  seemed  to  mean 
— can  he  bear  it  ?  and  then,  as  if  they  had  said — to  the  rack  ! 
took  me  by  the  arms  and  transported  me  as  before  into  another 
room.  Here  I  experienced  a  very  strange  sensation.  I  felt  as 
if  I  were  in  a  submarine  temple.  I  saw  vaguely,  through  a 
white  vaporous  veil,  high  marble  walls,  columns,  arches,  the 
vault  of  a  dome  with  windows  through  which  came  beams  of 
red,  blue  and  green  light,  white  phantoms  that  came  and  went 
along  the  walls,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  half-naked  men 
extended  like  corpses  on  the  pavement,  over  whom  stood  other 
men  half-naked,  bending  in  the  attitude  of  surgeons  engaged  in 
an  autopsy.  The  temperature  of  this  hall  is  so  high  that  per- 
spiration breaks  out  all  over  me,  and  I  feel  that  I  can  only  leave 
the  place  in  the  form  of  a  small  stream,  like  the  lover  of 
Arethusa. 

The  two  mulattoes  carry  my  body  into  the  middle  of  the 
hall  and  stretch  it  out  upon  a  kind  of  anatomical  table,  which 


1 62  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

is  an  immense  slab  of  white  marble,  raised  above  the  pavement 
under  which  are  the  heating  arrangements.  The  slab  scorches 
me  and  I  see  stars ;  but  I  am  here,  and  there  is  no  help  for  me. 
The  two  mulattoes  begin  the  vivisection,  chanting  a  funeral 
song.  They  pinch  my  arms  and  legs,  they  press  my  muscles, 
they  crack  my  joints,  they  knead  me,  stretch  me,  squeeze  me ; 
they  turn  me  on  my  face  and  begin  again ;  they  turn  me  back 
again,  and  go  on  as  before  ;  they  treat  me  like  a  paste  puppet 
which  they  are  trying  to  reduce  to  a  certain  form  they  have  in 
their  minds,  and  not  succeeding,  they  get  angry;  they  take 
breath  for  a  moment;  and  then  the  pinchings,  squeezings,  and 
stretchings  are  renewed,  until  I  think  that  my  last  hour  has 
come.  Finally,  when  my  whole  body  is  running  with  water  like 
a  squeezed  sponge,  when  they  can  see  the  blood  circulating 
under  my  skin,  when  they  recognize  that  I  can  bear  no  more, 
they  lift  my  remains  from  that  bed  of  torture,  and  carry  them 
to  a  corner,  where  in  a  small  niche  there  are  two  copper  pipes 
pouring  hot  and  cold  water  into  a  marble  basin.  But,  alas  ! 
here  begins  another  kind  of  torment,  and  truly  things  assume  a 
certain  aspect,  there  is  a  certain  fury  of  action,  that  without 
joking,  I  ask  myself  whether  I  had  not  better  give  a  kick  to  the 
right,  and  another  to  the  left,  and  defend  myself  as  best  I  may. 
One  of  my  two  tormentors  puts  on  a  camel's-hair  glove  and 
begins  to  rub  my  spine,  chest,  arms,  and  legs,  with  the  grace 
and  lightness  with  which  he  would  currycomb  a  horse,  and  the 
currycombing  is  prolonged  for  five  minutes.  This  done,  they 
deluge  me  with  a  torrent  of  tepid  water,  and  take  breath  once 
more.  I  also  breathe  again,  and  thank  heaven  that  it  is  over. 
But  it  is  not  over  !    The  ferocious  mulatto  takes  off  his  camel's- 


THE  BATH.  1 63 

hair  gloves  and  begins  again  with  his  naked  hand,  and  I,  out 
of  all  patience,  making  signs  to  him  to  stop,  he  shows  me  his 
hand  and  proves,  to  my  great  amazement,  that  I  am  still  in 
need  of  being  rubbed.  This  done  at  last,  another  deluge  of 
water  and  another  operation.  They  each  take,  a  great  bunch 
of  tow,  and  with  it  cover  me  from  head  to  foot  with  a  lather  of 
soap-suds.  After  this,  another  drenching  with  perfumed  water 
and  another  rubbing,  this  time  with  dry  tow.  Being  thoroughly 
dried  by  this  last  application  of  tow,  they  again  bind  the  muslin 
round  my  head,  put  on  my  apron,  wrap  me  in  a  sheet,  recon- 
duct me  to  the  second  hall,  and  after  a  short  stoppage  there, 
take  me  on  to  the  first.  Here  I  find  a  warm  mattress  on  which 
I  languidly  stretch  myself,  while  the  two  executioners  of  justice 
give  me  a  few  last  pinches  in  order  to  equalize  the  circulation 
of  the  blood.  This  done  they  place  an  embroidered  cushion 
under  my  head,  cover  me  with  a  white  cloth,  put  a  pipe  in  my 
mouth,  a  glass  of  sherbet  beside  me,  and  leave  me  there  fresh, 
light,  and  perfumed,  with  a  mind  serene,  a  contented  heart,  and 
senses  so  pure  and  full  of  youthful  life,  that  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
just  risen,  like  Venus,  from  the  foam  of  the  sea,  and  can  hear 
the  flutter  of  the  wings  of  the  loves  about  my  head. 


164  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


THE  TOWER  OF  THE  SERASKIARAT. 

Feeling  oneself  thus  "  pure  and  disposed  to  see  again  the 
stars,"  nothing  can  be  better  than  to  climb  up  to  the  head  of 
that  Titan  in  stone  which  is  called  the  Tower  of  the  Seraskiarat. 
I  believe  that  if  Satan  should  wish  again  to  tempt  any  one  with 
the  offer  of  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth,  he  would  be  sure  of 
success,  should  he  transport  his  victim  to  that  point.  The 
tower,  built  in  the  reign  of  Mahomet  Second,  is  planted  upon 
the  highest  of  the  hills  of  Stamboul,  in  the  midst  of  the  vast 
court  of  the  ministry  of  war,  at  the  point  which  the  Turks  call 
the  umbilicus  of  the  city.  It  is  constructed  in  great  part  of 
the  white  marble  of  Marmora,  upon  the  plan  of  a  regular  poly- 
gon of  sixteen  sides,  and  it  darts  upwards,  bold  and  slender  as 
a  column,  surpassing  in  height  the  gigantic  minarets  of  the 
neighboring  mosque  of  Soliman.  You  mount  by  a  winding 
staircase,  lighted  by  small  square  windows,  through  which  you 
catch  glimpses  of  Galata,  Stamboul,  and  the  suburbs  of  the 
Golden  Horn;  and  you  are  but  half-way  up  when  looking  out, 
you  seem  to  be  in  the  region  of  the  clouds. 

Sometimes  going  up,  you  hear  a  slight  noise  above  your 
head,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment  a  shade  passes  and  dis- 
appears, seeming  more  like  an  object  falling  than  a  man 
descending ;  it  is  one  of  the  watchmen  who  watch  day  and 
night  upon  the  summit  of  the  tower,  who  has  probably  seen  at 


THE    TOWER   OF   THE   SERASKIARAT.  1 65 

some  distant  point  of  the  horizon  a  suspicious  cloud  of  smoke, 
and  goes  to  give  warning  at  the  Seraskiarat.  The  staircase  has 
about  two  hundred  steps,  and  leads  to  a  kind  of  circular  terrace, 
roofed,  and  enclosed  with  glass,  where  a  watchman  is  always  on 
duty,  and  who  offers  coffee  to  visitors.  At  the  first  entrance  into 
that  transparent  cage  which  seems  suspended  between  heaven 
and  earth,  at  the  sight  of  that  great  azure  vault,  and  at  the 
sound  of  the  wind,  that  whistles  and  rattles  at  the  glass,  one  is 
seized  with  vertigo,  and  almost  tempted  to  renounce  the  pano- 
rama. But  one's  courage  returns  in  a  moment,  and  the  wonder- 
ful sight  draws  a  cry  of  amazement  from  the  spectator.  All 
Constantinople  lies  spread  out  before  you,  all  the  hills  and  all 
the  valleys  of  Stamboul,  from  the  castle  of  the  Seven  Towers  to 
the  cemeteries  of  Eyub  ;  all  Galata,  and  all  Pera,  all  Scutari ; 
three  lines  of  cities,  groves,  and  fleets,  that  lie  in  perspective 
along  three  enchanted  shores,  and  other  endless  villages  and 
gardens,  winding  about  towards  the  interior  ;  the  whole  of  the 
Golden  Horn,  motionless  and  crystalline,  dotted  with  innumera- 
ble caiques  that  look  like  flies  swimming  on  the  water ;  the 
whole  of  the  Bosphorus,  that  appears  closed  in  here  and  there 
by  the  more  advanced  hills  of  the  two  shores,  and  presents  the 
image  of  a  succession  of  lakes,  and  every  lake  is  encircled  by  a 
city,  and  every  city  wreathed  with  gardens ;  beyond  the  Bos- 
phorus the  Black  Sea,  whose  azure  melts  into  that  of  the  sky  ; 
on  the  other  side  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  the  Gulf  of  Nicomedia, 
the  Islands  of  the  Princes,  the  European  and  Asiatic  shore, 
white  with  villages ;  beyond  again,  the  straits  of  the  Darda- 
nelles, shining  like  a  narrow  silver  ribbon ;  and  then  a  vague, 
glistening  whiteness,  which  is  the  Egean  Sea,  and  a  dark  curve 


1 66  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

which  is  the  shore  of  the  Troad  \  beyond  Scutari,  Bythinia  and 
Olympus  )  beyond  Stamboul  the  undulating  yellow  solitudes  of 
Thrace  ;  two  gulfs,  two  straits,  two  continents,  three  seas, 
twenty  cities,  a  myriad  of  silver  domes  and  golden  pinnacles,  a 
glory  of  light  and  color,  to  make  us  doubt  whether  we  are  in- 
deed beholding  our  own  planet,  or  some  star  more  favored  of 
God. 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  1 67 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 

On  the  tower  of  the  Seraskiarat,  as  on  that  of  Galata,  as  on 
the  old  bridge,  as  at  Scutari,  I  asked  myself  over  and  over  again, 
— How  could  you  fall  in  love  with  Holland  ?  and  not  only  that 
country,  but  Paris,  Madrid,  Seville,  appeared  to  me  dark  and 
melancholy  cities,  in  which  I  could  not  have  lived  a  month. 
Then  I  thought  of  my  poor  attempts  at  description,  and  regret- 
fully T  muttered: — Ah!  unfortunate  man!  How  many  times 
have  you  misused  the  words  beautiful — immense — splendid  ! 
And  now  what  have  you  to  say  of  this  spectacle  ?  But  now  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  could  not  write  a  page  about  Constantino- 
ple. And  my  friend  Rossasco  said  to  me  : — But  why  not  try  ? 
and  I  answered  him — But  I  have  nothing  to  say  !  and  some- 
times, who  would  believe  it  ?  that  spectacle,  for  a  few  seconds, 
at  certain  hours,  in  certain  lights,  appeared  poor  and  mean,  and 
I  exclaimed,  almost  with  dismay, — Oh,  where  is  my  Constant^ 
nople  ?  At  other  times  I  was  seized  by  a  feeling  of  sadness  at 
the  thought  that  while  I  was  there  in  presence  of  that  immensity 
of  loveliness,  my  mother  was  in  her  little  chamber  from  which 
she  could  see  nothing  but  an  ugly  court  and  a  strip  of  sky;  and 
it  seemed  my  fault,  and  I  would  have  given  an  eye  to  have  the 
good  old  lady  on  my  arm,  conducting  her  to  Santa  Sofia.  The 
days,  however,  flew  by  light  and  joyous  as  an  hour  of  happi- 
ness.    And  on  the  rare  occasions  when  the  black  cloud  fell 


1 68  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

upon  me,  my  friend  and  I  knew  how  to  dissipate  it.  We  went 
down  to  Galata  in  two  two-oared  caiques,  the  brightest  colored 
and  most  gilded  to  be  found,  and  calling  out  Eyub  !  we  were  at 
once  in  the  middle  of  the  Golden  Horn.  Our  rowers  were  named 
Mahmoud,  Bajazet,  Ibrahim,  Murad  ;  they  were  each  about 
twenty  years  old,  and  had  two  arms  of  iron,  rowing  like  mad, 
and  exciting  each  other  with  cries  and  boyish  laughter:  the  sky 
was  serene,  and  the  sea  transparent ;  we  threw  our  heads  back 
and  took  long  deep  draughts  of  the  perfumed  air,  while  we 
dipped  our  hands  in  the  water  ;  the  two  caiques  flew,  and  on 
either  side  fled  by  kiosks  and  palaces,  gardens  and  mosques  ; 
we  seemed  to  be  flying  before  the  wind  through  an  enchanted 
region,  we  felt  an  inexpressible  pleasure  in  being  young,  and  at 
Stamboul,  Yank  sang,  I  recited  Victor  Hugo's  Oriental  Ballads, 
and  saw,  now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left,  now  near,  now  far 
off,  floating  in  the  air,  a  beloved  face,  crowned  with  silver  hair 
and  illuminated  by  a  soft  smile,  which  said : — Be  happy,  my 
son  1  I  follow  thee  with  a  benediction  I 


SANTA    SOFIA.  1 69 


SANTA   SOFIA. 

And  now  if  a  poor  travelling  scribbler  may  invoke  a  muse, 
do  I  invoke  her  with  joined  hands,  because  my  mind  wanders 
"before  the  noble  subject,"  and  the  grand  lines  of  the  Byzan- 
tine basilica  tremble  before  me  like  an  image  reflected  in  rip- 
pling water.  May  the  muse  inspire  me,  Saint  Sophia  illuminate 
me,  and  the  Emperor  Justinian  pardon  me ! 

One  fine  morning  in  October,  accompanied  by  a  Turkish 
eavass  from  the  Italian  consulate,  and  a  Greek  dragoman,  we 
finally  went  to  visit  the  "terrestrial  paradise,  the  second  firma- 
ment, the  car  of  the  cherubim,  the  throne  of  the  glory  of  God, 
the  marvel  of  the  earth,  the  largest  temple  in  the  world  after 
Saint  Peter's."  Which  last  sentence,  as  my  friends  of  Burgos, 
Cologne,  Milan,  Florence,  know,  is  not  my  own,  and  I  should 
not  dare  to  claim  it ;  but  I  have  cited  it  with  the  others,  be- 
cause it  is  one  of  the  many  expressions  consecrated  by  the  en- 
thusiasm of  the  Greeks,  that  our  dragoman  kept  constantly  re- 
peating. We  had  chosen,  together  with  a  Turkish  eavass,  an 
old  Greek  dragoman,  with  the  hope,  not  delusive,  of  hearing  in 
their  explanations  and  in  their  legends,  the  two  religions,  the 
two  histories,  the  two  peoples,  speaking  together;  and  that 
while  one  would  exalt  the  church,  the  other  would  glorify  the 
mosque,  so  as  to  show  Santa  Sofia  in  the  way  she  should  be 
seen,  with  one  Turkish  and  one  Christian  eye. 
8 


I/O  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

My  expectation  was  great  and  my  curiosity  intense;  yet  as 
I  went  along,  I  thought  as  I  think  now,  that  there  exists  no 
monument,  however  famous,  or  however  worthy  of  its  fame,  the 
sight  of  which  moves  the  soul  with  so  vivid  and  acute  a  pleas- 
ure, as  is  given  by  the. anticipation  when  going  to  see  it.  If  I 
were  to  live  over  again  any  hour  of  those  that  I  have  spent  in 
seeing  some  renowned  work  of  man,  I  should  choose  that  one 
between  the  moment  when  some  one  said,  "  Let  us  go!  "  and 
that  when  we  arrived  before  it.  The  happiest  hours  in  travel- 
ling are  those.  While  on  the  way,  your  soul  expands  in  the 
effort  to  contain  the  sentiment  of  admiration  which  is  about  to 
enter  it;  you  remember  your  youthful  desires  that  then  were 
only  dreams  ;  you  see  again  your  old  professor  of  geography, 
who  after  having  pointed  out  Constantinople  on  the  map  of 
Europe,  traces  in  the  air,  with  a  pinch  of  snuff  in  his  fingers, 
the  lines  of  the  great  basilica ;  you  remember  the  room,  and  the 
fire-place,  before  which,  the  preceding  winter,  the  monument 
was  described  to  a  wondering  and  silent  circle;  the  name  of 
Santa  Sofia  seems  to  resound  in  your  ears  and  in  your  heart, 
like  that  of  some  living  being  who  expects  and  calls  you  in 
order  to  reveal  to  you  some  great  secret ;  above  your  head  ap- 
pear arches  and  columns  of  a  prodigious  edifice  that  seems  to 
lose  itself  in  the  clouds  ;  and  when  you  are  near  it,  you  feel  an 
inexpressible  pleasure  in  delaying  for  one  moment,  to  lose  a 
little  time,  to  retard  for  an  instant  that  event  in  your  life  for 
which  you  have  longed  for  twenty  years  and  which  you  will  re- 
member forever.  So  that  there  remains  but  very  little  of  the  cel- 
ebrated pleasures  of  admiration  if  the  sentiments  that  precede 
and  follow  it  are  taken  away.     It  is  almost  always  an  illusion, 


SANTA    SOFIA.  171 

followed  by  an  awakening  from  which  we,  obstinate  as  we  are, 
bring  forth  other  delusions. 

The  mosque  of  Saint  Sophia  stands  opposite  the  principal 
entrance  of  the  old  Seraglio.  The  first  object,  however,  which 
attracts  the  eye  upon  arriving  in  the  square,  is  not  the  mosque, 
but  the  famous  fountain  of  Sultan  Ahmed  Third. 

It  is  one  of  the  richest  and  most  original  of  the  monuments 
of  Turkish  art.  But,  more  than  a  monument,  it  is  a  jewel  in 
marble,  that  a  gallant  Sultan  placed  on  the  forehead  of  his 
Stamboul ,  in  a  moment  of  affection.  I  believe  that  none  but  a 
woman  can  describe  it.  My  pen  is  not  fine  enough  to  trace  its 
image.  It  does  not  look  like  a  fountain  at  first.  It  is  in  the 
form  of  a  square  temple,  with  a  Chinese  roof,  extending  its  un- 
dulating border  far  beyond  the  walls,  and  giving  it  a  pagoda- 
like appearance.  At  each  of  the  four  angles  there  is  a  small 
round  tower,  furnished  with  little  grated  windows,  or  rather  four 
charming  kiosks,  corresponding  to  which  there  are,  upon  the 
roof,  four  slender  cupolas,  each  one  surmounted  by  a  graceful 
pinnacle ;  the  whole  encircling  a  larger  cupola  in  the  midst. 
On  each  of  the  four  sides  there  is  an  elegant  niche  with  a  pointed 
arch,  and  in  each  niche  a  jet  of  water  falling  into  a  small  basin. 
An  inscription  runs  all  round  the  edifice  to  the  following  effect : 
"This  fountain  speaks  to  you  in  the  verses  of  Sultan  Ahmed; 
turn  the  key  of  this  pure  and  tranquil  spring  and  invoke  the 
name  of  God  ;  drink  of  this  inexhaustible  and  limpid  water  and 
pray  for  the  Sultan."  The  little  edifice  is  all  of  white  marble, 
which  is  scarcely  visible  under  the  multiplicity  of  ornaments 
that  cover  the  walls  ;  there  are  little  arches,  little  niches,  little 
columns,  rosettes,   polygons,    ribbons,  embroidery   in    marble, 


172  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

gilding  on  blue  ground,  fringes  around  the  cupolas,  carvings 
under  the  roof,  mosaics  of  many  colors,  arabesques  of  many 
forms.  There  is  not  a  space  as  big  as  a  hand  that  is  not  carved, 
and  gilded  and  embroidered.  It  is  a  prodigy  of  grace,  richness 
and  patience,  to  be  kept  under  a  glass  shade  ;  a  thing  made 
apparently  not  only  for  the  eye,  but  which  must  have  a  taste, 
an  odor  of  its  own  ;  a  jewel  case,  that  one  would  like  to  open, 
and  discover  some  pearl  of  price  enshrined  within.  Time  has 
in  part  dimmed  the  gilding,  blurred  the  colors,  and  rusted  the 
marble.  What  must  this  colossal  jewel  have  been  when  first  un- 
veiled to  the  eye,  a  hundred  and  sixty  years  ago  ?  But  old  and 
faded  as  it  is,  it  still  holds  the  first  place  among  all  the  smaller 
marvels  of  Constantinople  ;  and  it  is  besides  a  thing  so  entirely 
Turkish,  that  it  fixes  itself  forever  in  the  memory  among  the 
crowd  of  objects  that  rise  before  the  eye  of  the  mind,  at  the 
name  of  Stamboul. 

From  the  fountain  is  seen  the  mosque  of  Saint  Sophia,  filling 
up  one  side  of  the  square. 

The  external  aspect  has  nothing  worthy  of  note.  The  only 
objects  that  attract  the  eye,  are  the  four  high  white  minarets 
that  rise  at  the  four  corners  of  the  edifice,  upon  pedestals  as  big 
as  houses.  The  famous  cupola  looks  small.  It  appears  impos- 
sible that  it  can  be  the  same  dome  that  swells  into  the  blue  air, 
like  the  head  of  a  Titan,  and  is  seen  from  Pera,  from  the  Bos- 
phorus,  from  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  and  from  the  hills  of  Asia. 
It  is  a  flattened  dome,  flanked  by  two  half  domes,  covered  with 
lead,  and  perforated  with  a  wreath  of  windows,  supported  upon 
four  walls  painted  in  stripes  of  pink  and  white,  sustained  in 
their  turn  by  enormous  bastions,  around  which  rise  confusedly 


SANTA    SOFIA.  1 73 

a  number  of  small  mean  buildings,  baths,  schools,  mausoleums, 
hospitals,  etc.,  which  hide  the  architectural  forms  of  the  basilica. 
You  see  nothing  but  a  heavy,  irregular  mass,  of  a  faded  color, 
naked  as  a  fortress,  and  not  to  all  appearance  large  enough  to 
hold  within  it  the  immense  nave  of  Saint  Sophia's  church.  Of 
the  ancient  basilica  nothing  is  really  visible  but  the  dome,  which 
has  lost  the  silvery  splendor  that  once  made  it  visible,  accord- 
ing to  the  Greeks,  from  the  summit  of  Olympus.  All  the  rest 
is  Mussulman.  One  summit  was  built  by  Mahomet  the  Con- 
queror, one  by  Selim  II.,  the  other  two  by  Amurath  III.  Of 
the  same  Amurath  are  the  buttresses  built  at  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century  to  support  the  walls  shaken  by  an  earthquake, 
and  the  enormous  crescent  in  bronze  planted  upon  the  top  of 
the  dome,  of  which  the  gilding  alone  cost  fifty  thousand  ducats. 
The  antique  atrium  has  disappeared  ;  the  baptistery  was  con- 
verted into  a  mausoleum  for  Mustafa  and  Ibrahim  I. ;  almost 
all  the  smaller  edifices  annexed  to  the  Greek  church  were 
either  destroyed,  or  hidden  by  new  walls,  or  transformed  so  as 
not  to  be  recognizable. 

On  every  side  the  mosque  overwhelms  and  masks  the 
church,  of  which  the  head  only  is  free,  though  over  that  also 
the  four  imperial  minarets  keep  watch  and  ward.  On  the 
eastern  side  there  is  a  door  ornamented  by  six  columns  of 
porphyry  and  marble  ;  at  the  southern  side  another  door  by 
which  you  enter  a  court,  surrounded  by  low,  irregular  buildings, 
in  the  midst  of  which  bubbles  a  fountain  for  ablution,  covered 
by  an  arched  roof  with  eight  columns.  Looked  at  from  with- 
out, Saint  Sophia  can  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  the  other 
mosques  of  Stamboul,  unless  by  its  inferior  lightness  and  white- 


174  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

ness  ;  much  less  would  it  pass  for  the  "  greatest  temple  in  the 
world  after  St.  Peter's." 

Our  guides  conducted  us,  by  a  narrow  way  that  ran  along 
the  northern  side  of  the  edifice,  to  a  bronze  door,  through  which 
we  entered  the  vestibule.  This#  vestibule,  which  is  a  very  long 
and  very  lofty  hall,  lined  with  marble  and  with  some  of  the  an- 
cient mosaics  still  glittering  here  and  there,  gives  access  to  the 
nave  of  the  eastern  side  by  nine  doors,  and  on  the  opposite 
side  it  formerly  opened  by  five  doors  on  another  vestibule, 
which  by  thirteen  doors  communicated  with  the  atrium.  As 
soon  as  we  had  crossed  the  threshold,  we  showed  our  entrance 
firman  to  a  turbaned  sacristan,  put  on  the  slippers,  and  at  a 
sign  from  the  guide,  advanced  to  the  central  door  of  the  east- 
ern side,  that  stood  open  to  receive  us.  The  first  effect  of  the 
nave  is  really  grand  and  new.  The  eye  embraces  an  enormous 
vault,  a  bold  architecture  of  half-domes  that  seem  suspended  in 
the  air,  measureless  pilasters,  gigantic  arches,  colossal  columns, 
galleries,  tribunes,  and  porticoes,  upon  all  of  which  a  flood  of 
light  descends  from  a  thousand  great  windows  ;  there  is  a  some- 
thing rather  scenic  and  princely  than  sacred ;  an  ostentation  of 
grandeur  and  force,  an  air  of  mundane  elegance,  a  confusion  of 
classic,  barbarous,  capricious,  presumptuous,  and  magnificent ; 
a  grand  harmony,  in  which,  with  the  thundering  and  formidable 
note  of  the  cyclopean  arches  and  pilasters,  there  are  mingled 
the  gentle  and  low  strain  of  the  Oriental  canticle,  the  clamor- 
ous masic  of  the  feasts  of  Justinian  and  Heraclitus,  echoes  of 
pagan  songs,  faint  voices  of  an  effeminate  and  worn-out  race, 
and  distant  cries  of  Goth  and  Vandal ;  there  is  a  faded  majesty, 
a  sinister  nudity,  a  profound  peace ;  an  idea  of  the  basilica  of 


SANTA    SOFIA.  1/5 

St.  Peter  contracted  and  toned  down,  and  of  St.  Mark's  grosser, 
larger  and  deserted ;  a  mixture  heretofore  unseen  of  temple, 
church,  and  mosque,  of  severity  and  puerility,  of  ancient  things 
and  modern,  of  ill-assorted  colors,  and  odd,  bizaare  ornaments  ; 
a  spectacle,  in  short,  which  at  once  astonishes  and  displeases, 
and  leaves  the  mind  for  a  moment  uncertain,  seeking  the  right 
word  to  express  and  affirm  its  thought. 

The  edifice  is  constructed  upon  an  almost  equilateral  rec- 
tangle, from  the  centre  of  which  rises  the  principal  dome,  up- 
held by  four  great  arches  supported  upon  four  very  lofty  pilas- 
ters, that  form,  as  it  were,  the  skeleton  of  the  building.  Upon 
the  two  arches,  which  face  you  as  you  enter  are  placed  two 
large  half-domes  which  cover  the  whole  of  the  nave,  and  each 
of  these  opens  into  two  other  smaller  half-domes,  which  form 
four  small  round  temples  within  the  great  one.  Between  the 
two  temples  opposite  the  entrance  opens  the  apse,  also  covered 
by  a  vault  of  one-fourth  of  a  sphere.  There  are  then  seven 
half-domes  which  surround  the  principal  dome,  two  beneath  it, 
and  five  below  those  two,  without  any  apparent  support,  so  that 
they  present  an  aspect  of  extraordinary  lightness,  and  seem  in- 
deed, as  a  Greek  poet  has  written,  to  be  suspended  by  seven 
invisible  threads  from  the  vault  of  heaven.  All  these  domes 
are  lighted  by  large  arched  windows  of  great  symmetry.  Be- 
tween the  four  enormous  pilasters  which  form  a  square  in  the 
middle  of  the  basilica,  rise,  to  the  right  and  left  as  you  enter, 
eight  marvellous  columns  of  green  breccia  from  which  spring 
the  most  graceful  arches,  sculptured  with  foliage,  forming  an 
elegant  portico  on  either  side  of  the  nave,  and  sustaining  at  a 
great  height  two  vast  galleries,  which  present  two  more  ranges 


1 76  CONS  TANTINOPLE. 

of  columns  and  sculptured  arches.  A  third  gallery  which  com- 
municates with  the  two  first,  runs  along  the  entire  side  where 
the  entrance  is,  and  opens  upon  the  nave  with  three  great 
arches,  sustained  by  twin  columns.  Other  minor  galleries,  sup- 
ported by  porphyry  columns,  cross  the  four  temples  posted  at 
the  extremity  of  the  nave,  and  sustain  other  columns  bearing 
tribunes.  This  is  the  basilica.  The  mosque  is,  as  it  were, 
planted  in  its  bosom  and  attached  to  its  walls.  The  Mirab,  or 
niche  which  indicates  the  direction  of  Mecca,  is  cut  in  one  of  the 
pilasters  of  the  apse.  To  the  right  of  it  and  high  up  is  hung 
one  of  the  four  carpets  which  Mahomet  used  in  prayer.  Upon 
the  corner  of  the  apse  nearest  the  Mirab,  at  the  top  of  a  very 
steep  little  staircase,  flanked  by  two  balustrades  of  marble 
sculptured  with  exquisite  delicacy,  under  an  odd  conical  roof, 
between  two  triumphal  standards  of  Mahomet  Second,  is  the  pul- 
pit where  the  Ratib  goes  up  to  read  the  Koran,  with  a  drawn 
scimetar  in  his  hand,  to  indicate  that  Santa  Sofia  is  a  mosque 
acquired  by  conquest.  Opposite  the  pulpit  is  the  tribune  of 
the  Sultan,  closed  with  a  gilded  lattice.  Other  pulpits  or  plat- 
forms, furnished  with  balustrades  sculptured  in  open  work, 
and  ornamented  with  small  marble  columns  and  arabesque 
arches,  extend  here  and  there  along  the  walls,  or  project  to- 
wards the  centre  of  the  nave.  To  the  right  and  left  of  the  en- 
trance, are  two  enormous  alabaster  urns,  brought  from  the  ruins 
of  Pergamo,  by  Amurath  Third.  Upon  the  pilasters,  at  a  great 
height,  are  suspended  immense  green  disks,  with  inscriptions 
from  the  Koran  in  letters  of  gold.  Underneath,  attached  to 
the  walls,  are  large  cartouches  of  porphyry  inscribed  with  the 
names  of  Allah,  Mahomet,  and  the  first  four  Caliphs.     In  the 


SANTA    SOFIA.  1 77 

angles  formed  by  the  four  arches  that  sustain  the  cupola,  may 
still  be  seen  the  gigantic  wings  of  four  mosaic  cherubim,  whose 
faces  are  concealed  by  gilded  rosettes.  From  the  vaults  of  the 
domes  depend  innumerable  thick  silken  cords,  to  which  are  at- 
tached ostrich  eggs,  bronze  lamps,  and  globes  of  crystal.  Here 
and  there  are  seen  lecterns,  inlaid  with  mother  of  pearl  and 
copper,  with  manuscript  Korans  upon  them.  The  pavement  is 
covered  with  carpets  and  mats.  The  walls  are  bare,  whitish, 
yellowish,  or  dark  grey,  still  ornamented  here  and  there  with 
faded  mosaics.     The  general  aspect  is  gloomy  and  sad. 

The  chief  marvel  of  the  mosque  is  the  great  dome.  Looked 
at  from  the  nave  below,  it  seems  indeed,  as  Madame  de  Stael 
said  of  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  like  an  abyss  suspended  over 
one's  head.  It  is  immensely  high,  has  an  enormous  circum- 
ference, and  its  depth  is  only  one-sixth  of  its  diameter;  which 
makes  it  appear  still  larger.  At  its  base  a  gallery  encircles  it, 
and  above  the  gallery  there  is  a  row  of  forty  arched  windows. 
In  the  top  is  written  the  sentence  pronounced  by  Mahomet  Sec- 
ond, as  he  sat  on  his  horse  in  front  of  the  high  altar  on  the  day 
of  the  taking  of  Constantinople  :  "  Allah  is  the  light  of  heaven 
and  of  earth  ;  "  and  some  of  the  letters,  which  are  white  upon 
a  black  ground,  are  nine  yards  long.  As  every  one  knows,  this 
aerial  prodigy  could  not  be  constructed  with  the  usual  materi- 
als ;  and  it  was  built  of  pumice  stone  that  floats  on  water,  and 
with  bricks  from  the  island  of  Rhodes,  five  of  which  scarcely 
weigh  as  much  as  one  ordinary  brick.  In  each  brick  was  written 
the  sentence  of  David  :  Deus  in  medio  eius  non  commovebitur. 
Adiuvabit  earn  Deus  vultu  suo.  At  every  twelfth  row  of  bricks, 
holy  relics  were  built  in.  While  the  workmen  labored,  the 
8* 


1/8  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

priests  were  chanting;  Justinian  in  a  linen  tunic  was  present ; 
and  an  immense  crowd  looked  on  in  admiring  wonder.  And 
we  need  not  be  astonished  when  we  think  that  the  construction 
of  this  second  firmament,  so  marvellous  even  in  our  day,  was  in 
the  sixth  century  a  thing  without  exariple.  The  vulgar  believed 
that  it  was  upheld  by  enchantment,  and  the  Turks,  for  a  long 
time  after  the  conquest,  when  they  were  praying  in  the  mosque, 
had  much  ado  to  keep  their  faces  towards  the  east  and  not  turn 
them  upwards  to  "  the  stone  sky." 

The  dome,  in  fact,  covers  almost  the  half  of  the  nave,  so 
that  it  dominates  and  lights  the  whole  edifice,  and  a  segment 
of  it  may  be  seen  from  every  side  ;  whichever  way  you  may 
turn,  you  always  find  yourself  beneath  it,  and  your  eye  and  mind 
rise  and  float  within  its  circle  with  a  pleasurable  sensation,  al- 
most like  that  of  flying. 

When  you  have  visited  the  nave  and  the  dome  you  have 
only  begun  to  see  Saint  Sophia.  For  example,  whoever  has  a 
shade  of  historic  curiosity  may  dedicate  an  hour  to  the  columns. 
Here  are  the  spoils  of  all  the  temples  in  the  world.  The  col- 
umns of  green  breccia  which  support  the  two  great  galleries, 
were  presented  to  Justinian  by  the  magistrates  of  Ephesus,  and 
belonged  to  the  temple  of  Diana  that  was  burned  by  Erostratus. 
The  eight  porphyry  columns  that  stand  two  and  two  between 
the  pilasters  belonged  to  the  Temple  of  the  Sun  built  by  Aure- 
lian  at  Balbek.  Other  columns  are  from  the  Temple  of  Jove 
at  Cizicum,  from  the  temple  of  Helios  of  Palmyra,  from  the  tem- 
ples of  Thebes,  Athens,  Rome,  the  Troad,  the  Ciclades,  and 
from  Alexandria  ;  and  they  present  an  infinite  variety  of  sizes 
and  colors.       Among  the  columns,  the  balustrades,  the  pedes- 


SANTA    SOFIA.  1 79 

tals,  and  the  slabs  which  remain  of  the  ancient  lining  of  the 
walls,  may  be  seen  marbles  from  all  the  mines  of  the  Archipel- 
ago, from  Asia  Minor,  from  Africa  and  from  Gaul.  The  mar- 
ble of  the  Bosphorus,  white,  spotted  with  black,  contrasts  with 
the  black  Celtic  marble  Veined  with  white  ;  the  green  marble 
of  Laconia  is  reflected  in  the  azure  marble  of  Lybia  ;  the  speck- 
led porphyry  of  Egypt,  the  starred  granite  of  Thessaly,  the  red 
and  white  striped  stone  of  Jassy,  mingle  their  colors  with  the 
purple  of  the  Phrygian  marble,  the  rose  of  that  of  Synada, 
the  gold  of  the  marble  of  Mauritania  and  the  snow  of  the  mar- 
ble of  Paros. 

To  this  variety  of  colors  must  be  added  the  indescribable 
variety  of  the  forms  of  friezes,  cornices,  rosettes,  balustrades, 
capitals  of  an  odd  Corinthian  style,  in  which  animals,  leaves, 
crosses  and  chimeras  are  all  woven  together,  and  others  which 
belong  to  no  order,  fantastic  in  design  and  unequal  in  size,  coup- 
led together  by  chance ;  and  shafts  of  columns  and  pedestals 
ornamented  with  capricious  carvings,  worn  by  time  and  chipped 
by  the  scimetar ;  which  altogether  present  a  strange  aspect  of 
magnificence  and  barbarous  disorder,  and  are  the  scorn  of 
good  taste,  although  one  cannot  take  one's  eyes  from  them. 

Standing  in  the  nave,  however,  one  cannot  comprehend  the 
vastness  of  the  mosque.  The  nave,  in  fact,  is  but  a  small  part 
of  the  whole.  The  two  porticoes  that  sustain  the  lateral  gal- 
leries are  two  large  edifices  by  themselves  alone,  out  of  which 
two  temples  might  be  made.  Each  of  them  is  divided  into  three 
parts,  separated  by  very  high  arches.  Columns,  architraves, 
pilasters,  vaults,  all  are  enormous.  Walking  under  these  lofty 
arcades,  the  great  nave,  looking  like  another  basilica,  can  hardly 


ISO  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

be  seen  between  the  interstices  of  the  columns  of  the  temple  of 
Ephesus.  The  same  effect  is  observed  from  the  galleries,  to 
which  you  mount  by  a  spiral  staircase  of  very  slight  inclination, 
or  rather  not  a  staircase,  since  there  are  no  steps,  but  an  as- 
cending way,  by  which  a  man  on  horseback  could  easily  go. 
The  galleries  were  the  gineceo,  or  the  part  of  the  church  reserved 
for  women ;  the  penitents  remained  in  the  vestibule,  and  the 
common  crowd  of  the  faithful  in  the  nave.  Each  gallery  could 
contain  the  population  of  a  suburb  of  Constantinople.  You  do 
not  feel  as  if  you  were  in  a  church,  but  rather  appear  to  be 
walking  in  some  Titanic  theatre,  where  at  any  moment  may 
burst  forth  a  chorus  of  a  hundred  thousand  voices.  To  see  the 
mosque,  you  should  approach  the  balustrade  and  look  over,  and 
then  all  its  grandeur  appears.  Arches,  vaults,  pilasters,  all  are 
gigantic.  The  green  disks  that  looked  as  if  you  could  span 
them  with  your  arms,  would  here  cover  a  house.  The  windows 
are  the  portals  of  palaces ;  the  wings  of  the  cherubim  are  sails 
of  ships;  the  tribunals  are  public  squares;  the  dome  makes 
your  head  swim.  Casting  down  your  eyes,  you  find  another 
wonder.  You  did  not  know  you  had  gone  up  so  high.  The 
floor  of  the  nave  is  at  the  bottom  of  an  abyss,  and  the  pulpits, 
the  urns  of  Pergamo,  the  mats,  the  lamps,  have  all  grown  sin- 
gularly little.  You  see  at  the  same  time  from  this  point  a  curi- 
ous peculiarity  of  the  mosque  of  Saint  Sophia,  and  that  is,  that 
the  nave  does  not  lie  precisely  in  the  direction  of  Mecca,  towards 
which  the  Mussulman  must  turn  in  prayer,  and  consequently, 
all  the  mats  and  praying  carpets  are  disposed  obliquely  to  the 
lines  of  the  edifice,  and  offend  the  eye  like  a  gross  error  in  per- 
spective.    From  above  can  be  embraced  at  once  with  the  eye 


SANTA    SOFIA.  l8l 

and  mind  all  the  life  of  the  mosque.  There  are  to  be  seen  Turks 
on  their  knees,  with  their  foreheads  touching  the  pavement ; 
others  erect  like  statues  with  their  hands  before  their  faces,  as 
if  they  were  studying  the  lines  in  their  palms  j'some  seated  cross- 
legged  at  the  base  of  columns,  as  if  they  were  reposing  under 
the  shadow  of  trees ;  a  veiled  woman  on  her  knees  in  a  solita- 
ry corner  ;  old  men  seated  before  the  lecterns,  reading  the  Ko- 
ran ;  an  imaum  hearing  a  group  of  boys  reciting  sacred  verses  ; 
and  here  and  there,  under  the  distant  arcades  and  in  the  galleries, 
imaum,  ratib,  muezzin,  servants  of  the  mosque  in  strange  cos- 
tumes, coming  and  going  silently  as  if  they  did  not  touch  the  pave- 
ment. The  vague  harmony  formed  by  the  low,  monotonous  voi- 
ces of  those  reading  or  praying,  those  thousand  strange  lamps, 
that  clear  and  equal  light,  that  deserted  apse,  those  vast  silent 
galleries,  that  immensity,  those  memories,  that  peace,  leave  in 
the  soul  an  impression  of  mystery  and  grandeur  which  words 
cannot  express,  nor  time  efface. 

But  at  bottom,  as  I  have  said,  it  is  a  sad  impression,  and 
verifies  the  great  poet  who  likened  the  mosque  of  Saint  Sophia 
to  a  "  colossal  sepulchre,"  because  on  every  side  were  visible 
the  traces  of  a  horrid  devastation,  exciting  more  regret  for  what 
has  been,  than  admiration  for  what  is.  The  first  feeling  of 
amazement  over,  the  mind  turns  irresistibly  to  the  past.  And 
even  now,  after  three  years,  I  cannot  recall  the  image  of  the 
great  mosque  without  its  representing  to  me  instead,  the 
church.  I  pull  down  the  Mussulman  pulpits,  take  away  the 
lamps  and  urns,  remove  the  disks  and  the  porphyry  cartouches, 
re-open  the  walled  up  windows  and  doors,  scrape  off  the  white- 
wash from  the  walls  and  ceilings,  and  behold  the  basilica  new 


1 8  2  CON  STAN  T1N0PLE. 

and  entire,  as  it  was  thirteen  centuries  ago,  when  Justinian  ex- 
claimed :  "  Glory  to  God,  who  has  judged  me  worthy  to  com- 
plete this  work  !  Solomon,  I  have  surpassed  thee  !  "  Every- 
where that  the  eye  is  turned,  every  thing  shines,  sparkles, 
lightens  as  in  the  enchanted  regions  of  legends.  The  great 
walls,  lined  with  precious  marbles,  send  back  reflections  of 
gold,  of  ivory,  of  steel,  of  coral,  of  mother-of-pearl ;  the  innu- 
merable veins  and  spots  upon  the  marble  assume  the  aspect  of 
crowns  and  garlands  of  flowers ;  the  infinite  mosaics  of  crystal 
give  to  the  walls,  when  a  ray  of  sun  falls  upon  them,  the  appear- 
ance of  being  encrusted  silver  set  with  diamonds.  The  capi- 
tals, the  cornices,  the  doors,  the  friezes  of  the  arches  are  all  of 
gilded  bronze.  The  vaults  of  portico  and  gallery  are  painted 
with  colossal  figures  of  saints  and  angels  in  a  golden  field.  In 
front  of  the  pilasters,  in  the  chapels,  beside  the  doors,  among 
the  columns,  stand  statues  of  marble  and  of  bronze,  enormous 
candelabras  of  massive  gold,  gigantic  evangelists  bending  above 
reading  desks  resplendent  as  the  chairs  of  kings,  high  ivory 
crosses,  vases  shining  with  pearls.  At  the  bottom  of  the  nave 
there  is  a  confused  lustre  as  of  something  in  flames.  It  is  the 
balustrade  of  the  choir,  in  gilded  bronze  ;  it  is  the  pulpit,  en- 
crusted with  forty  thousand  pounds  of  silver,  which  cost  the 
sum  of  one  year's  tribute  from  Egypt ;  it  is  the  seats  of  seven 
priests,  the  throne  of  the  patriarch,  the  emperor's  throne,  sculp- 
tured, inlaid,  set  with  pearls,  so  that  when  the  light  strikes  full 
upon  them,  the  eyes  are  dazzled  and  cannot  see  them.  Beyond 
this  splendor  in  the  apse,  there  is  a  yet  greater  magnificence. 
It  is  the  altar,  of  which  the  table,  supported  on  four  golden  col- 
umns, is  made  of  gold,  silver,  pewter  and  pearls  all  melted  to- 


SANTA    SOFIA.  1 83 

gefher ;  and  the  pyx  formed  of  four  columns  of  massive  silver, 
surmounted  by  a  globe  and  cross  of  gold  weighing  two  hundred 
and  sixty  pounds.  Behind  the  altar  rises  a  gigantic  figure  of 
the  divine  Wisdom  that  touches  the  vault  of  the  apse  with  its 
head  and  the  floor  with  its  feet.  Over  all  these  treasures  soar 
aloft  the  seven  half  domes  covered  with  mosaics  in  gold  and 
crystal,  and  the  great  central  dome  upon  which  are  the  immeas- 
urable forms  of  apostles  and  evangelists,  the  Virgin  and  the 
Cross,  all  glittering  with  gold  and  colors  like  jewels  and  flowers. 
And  all  are  mirrored  in  the  pavement  of  polished  marbles. 
Such  was  the  interior  of  the  basilica.  But  we  must  imagine 
also  the  great  atrium,  surrounded  by  columns,  and  walls  lined 
with  mosaic  and  ornamented  with  marble  fountains  and  eques- 
trian statues  ;  the  tower,  from  which  thirty-two  bells  made  their 
formidable  voices  echo  to  the  seven  hills  ;  the  hundred  doors 
of  bronze  decorated  with  bas-reliefs,  and  inscriptions  in  silver  ; 
the  halls  of  the  synods,  the  halls  of  the  emperor,  the  prisms  of 
the  priests,  the  baptistery,  the  vast  sacristy  filled  with  treasures, 
and  a  labyrinth  of  vestibules,  of  tricliniums,  of  corridors,  of  hid- 
den staircases  that  wound  about  in  the  thickness  of  the  walls 
and  led  to  tribunes  and  secret  oratories.  Now  we  may  imagine 
the  picture  presented  by  such  a  basilica  on  the  grand  occasions 
of  imperial  marriages,  councils,  coronations  ;  when  from  the 
enormous  palaces  of  the  Caesars,  through  streets  lined  with  col- 
umns and  strewn  with  myrtle  and  flowers,  perfumed  with  myrrh 
and  incense,  and  hung  with  silk  and  gold,  amid  the  clamors  of 
heralds  and  the  songs  of  poets,  the  emperor  advanced,  wearing 
the  tiara  surmounted  by  a  cross,  and  bejewelled  like  an  idol, 
seated  upon  a  golden  car  drawn  by  two  white  mules,  and  sur- 


184  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

rounded  by  a  brilliant  court.  Then  the  clergy  of  the  basilica 
in  all  their  pomp  met  him  in  the  atrium,  and  all  that  glittering 
crowd  burst  by  twenty-seven  doors,  into  the  illuminated  church. 
After  having  made  in  silence  several  tours  about  the  mosque, 
we  allowed  our  guides  to  speak,  who  began  by  showing  us  the 
chapels  placed  beneath  the  galleries,  and  despoiled  of  every 
thing,  like  every  other  part  of  the  basilica.  Some  of  them  serve 
as  treasuries,  in  which  Turks  who  are  starting  on  a  long  jour- 
ney, or  who  are  in  fear  of  robbers,  deposit  their  money  and 
their  precious  objects,  and  often  leave  them  there  for  years, 
under  God's  guard ;  others,  enclosed  by  a  wall,  are  converted 
into  infirmaries,  in  which  some  idiot,  or  man  sick  of  an  incura- 
ble disease,  awaits  release  by  cure  or  death,  and  from  time  to 
lime  makes  the  mosque  ring  with  lamentable  cries,  or  childish 
laughter.  They  now  re-conduct  us  into  the  middle  of  the  nave 
and  the  Greek  dragoman  begins  to  recount  the  marvels  of  the 
basilica.  The  design,  it  is  true,  was  traced  by  the  architects 
Antemius  of  Tralles  and  Isidoro  of  Miletus  ;  but  an  angel  in- 
spired the  first  conception  of  it.  It  was  an  angel  also  who  sug- 
gested to  Justinian  to  cause  three  windows  to  be  opened  in  the 
apse,  which  should  represent  the  three  persons  of  the  Trinity. 
Thus  also  the  hundred  and  seven  columns  of  the  church  repre- 
sent the  hundred  and  seven  columns  which  sustain  the  house 
of  Wisdom.  Seven  years  were  occupied  in  gathering  together 
the  materials  for  the  construction  of  the  edifice.  One  hundred 
chief  superintendents  directed  the  work,  and  ten  thousand 
laborers  were  under  them,  five  thousand  on  one  side,  and  five 
thousand  on  the  other.  The  walls  were  only  a  few  palms  high 
when  already  more  than  four  hundred  and  fifty  quintals  of  gold 


SANTA    SOFIA.  1 8$ 

had  been  spent.  The  total  cost  of  the  building  alone  amounted 
to  twenty-five  millions  of  francs.  The  church  was  consecrated 
by  the  Patriarch,  five  years,  eleven  months  and  ten  days  after 
the  first  stone  was  laid,  and  Justinian  ordered  on  that  occasion 
sacrifices,  feasts,  distributions  of  money  and  food,  which  lasted 
two  weeks. 

Here  the  Turkish  cavass  struck  in,  and  pointed  out  the  pi- 
laster upon  which  Sultan  Mahmoud  the  Second,  when  he  entered 
a  conqueror  into  Saint  Sophia,  left  the  bloody  impress  of  his 
right  hand  as  if  to  seal  his  victory.  Then  he  showed  us,  near 
the  Mirab,  the  so-called  cold  window,  from  which  a  fresh  air  is 
always  blowing,  which  inspires  the  greatest  preachers  of  Islam 
with  the  most  moving  discourses.  He  pointed  out,  at  another 
window,  the  famous  resplendent  stone,  which  is  a  slab  of  diapho- 
nous  marble,  which  glows  like  a  piece  of  crystal  when  struck  by 
the  rays  of  the  sun.  On  the  left  of  the  entrance  on  the  north 
side  is  the  sweating  column:  a  column  covered  with  bronze, 
through  an  aperture  in  which  can  be  seen  the  marble  always 
moist.  And  finally  he  showed  a  concave  block  of  marble, 
brought  from  Bethlehem,  in  which,  it  is  said,  was  laid,  as  soon 
as  he  was  born,  Sidi  Yssa,  "the  son  of  Mary,  the  apostle  of 
God,  the  spirit  that  proceeds  from  Him,  and  merits  honor  in 
this  world  and  the  next."  But  it  seemed  to  me  that  neither  the 
Turk  nor  the  Greek  believed  much  in  this.  The  dragoman 
now  took  up  the  tale,  passing  before  a  walled-up  door  in  the 
gallery,  to  relate  the  celebrated  legend  of  the  bishop,  and  this 
time  he  spoke  with  conviction,  which  if  not  genuine,  was  well 
put  on.  At  the  moment  when  the  Turks  broke  into  the  church 
of  Saint  Sophia,  a  Greek  bishop  was  saying  mass  before  the 


1 86  CONS  TAN  TINOPLE. 

high  altar.  At  the  sight  of  the  invaders  he  abandoned  the 
altar,  went  into  the  gallery,  and  disappeared  through  this  little 
door  before  the  eyes  of  the  pursuing  soldiers,  who  instantly 
found  themselves  stopped  by  a  stone  wall.  They  began  to 
pound  furiously  upon  the  wall ;  but  only  succeeded  in  leaving 
the  marks  of  their  weapons  upon  it ;  masons  were  called ;  but 
after  having  worked  for  a  whole  day  with  pick  and  mattock, 
were  obliged  to  renounce  the  task ;  all  the  masons  in  Constan- 
tinople tried  their  hands  at  it,  and  all  failed  to  open  a  breach 
in  the  miraculous  wall.  But  that  wall  will  open  ;  it  will  open 
on  the  day  when  the  profaned  basilica  shall  be  restored  to 
Christian  worship,  and  then  the  Greek  bishop  will  issue  forth, 
dressed  in  his  pontifical  habit,  with  the  chalice  in  his  hand,  with 
a  radiant  countenance,  and  mounting  the  steps  of  the  high  altar, 
he  will  resume  the  mass  at  the  exact  point  where  he  left  off; 
and  on  that  day  the  dawn  of  new  centuries  shall  shine  resplen- 
dent for  Constantinople. 

As  we  were  going  out,  the  Turkish  sacristan,  who  had  fol- 
lowed us  about  in  a  dawdling,  yawning  way.  gave  me  a  handful 
of  pieces  of  mosaic  which  he  had  picked  out  that  moment  from 
the  wall,  and  the  dragoman,  stopping  in  the  doorway,  began 
the  recital,  which  I  took  down  from  his  lips,  of  the  profanation 
of  the  basilica. 

Hardly  had  the  news  spread,  towards  seven  in  the  morning, 
that  the  Turks  had  passed  the  walls,  when  an  immense  crowd 
fled  for  refuge  to  Saint  Sophia.  There  were  about  a  hundred 
thousand  persons  :  soldiers,  monks,  priests,  senators,  thousands 
of  virgins  fleeing  from  the  convents,  patrician  families  with 
their  treasures,  great  dignitaries  of  the  state,  and  princes  of 


SANTA    SOFIA.  1 87 

the  imperial  house,  rushing  through  the  galleries  and  the  nave, 
and  hiding  themselves  in  all  the  recesses  of  the  edifice.  Min- 
gled with  them  came  the  refuse  of  the  people ;  slaves,  malefac- 
tors vomited  from  the  prisons  and  the  galleys,  and  the  whole 
church  resounded  with  their  shrieks  of  terror,  as  when  a 
crowded  theatre  is  invaded  by  the  flames.  When  the  nave,  the 
galleries,  and  the  vestibules  were  all  packed  full,  the  doors  were 
closed  and  barred,  and  to  the  horrible  din  of  the  first  moments 
succeeded  a  frightened  silence.  Many  still  believed  that  the 
conquerors  would  not  dare  to  profane  the  church  of  Saint 
Sophia ;  others  awaited  in  stupid  security  the  apparition  of  the 
angel,  announced  by  the  prophets,  who  should  exterminate  the 
Mussulman  army  before  the  advance  guard  should  arrive  at  the 
pillar  of  Constantihe  ;  others,  mounted  upon  the  inner  gallery 
of  the  dome,  watched  from  the  windows  the  advancing  danger 
and  made  signs  to  the  hundred  thousand  pallid  faces  that  looked 
up  at  them  from  the  church  below.  They  could  see  from  thence 
an  immense  white  cloud  that  covered  the  walls  from  the  Blach- 
erne  to  the  gilded  gate ;  and  from  that  point  four  glittering  lines 
advancing  through  the  streets  like  four  lava  torrents,  widening 
and  roaring  in-  the  midst  of  smoke  and  flame.  They  were  the 
four  assaulting  columns  of  the  Turkish  army,  driving  before 
them  in  disorder  the  advance  guard  of  the  Greeks,  and  spread- 
ing, pillaging,  burning,  as  they  came  on  towards  Saint  Sophia, 
the  Hippodrome,  and  the  Imperial  palace.  When  the  vanguard 
arrived  upon  the  second  hill,  the  blare  of  trumpets  was  sud- 
denly he^ard,  and  the  terrified  crowd  in  the  church  fell  on  their 
knees.  But  even  in  that  moment  many  still  believed  in  the  ap- 
parition of  the  angel,  and  others   hoped   that  a  sentiment  of 


1 88  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

respect  and  awe  would  arrest  the  invaders  before  that  immense 
edifice  consecrated  to  God.  But  this  last  delusion  soon  van- 
ished. The  trumpets  sounded  nearer,  a  confused  noise  of  arms 
and  shouting  burst  into  the  church  through  its  thousand  win- 
dows, and  in  a  moment  the  first  blows  of  the  Mussulman  axes 
were  heard  upon  the  bronze  doors  of  the  vestibules.  Then 
that  great  throng  felt  the  chill  of  death  upon  them,  and  recom- 
mended themselves  to  God.  The  doors  gave  way,  a  savage 
horde  of  janissaries,  spahis,  timmariots,  dervishes,  sciaus,  black 
with  powder  and  blood,  transfigured  by  the  fury  of  battle,  by 
rapine,  and  violence  of  every  kind,  appeared  in  the  openings. 
At  the  first  sight  of  the  great  nave  and  all  its  splendid  treasures, 
there  was  a  shout  of  wonder  and  delight ;  and  then  the  dread- 
ful torrent  rolled  on  its  furious  course.  One  part  fell  upon  the 
women,  upon  the  nobles,  precious  slaves,  who  stupid  with  terror 
held  out  their  arms  for  the  cord  and  chain ;  the  rest  rushed  for 
the  treasures  of  the  church.  The  tabernacles  were  pillaged,  the 
statues  overthrown,  the  ivory  crucifixes  smashed  to  atoms  ;  the 
mosaics,  believed  to  be  gems,  dug  out  by  the  scimetars,  fell  in 
sparkling  showers  into  caftans  and  cloaks  held  out  to  catch 
them  ;  the  pearls  of  the  sacred  vessels,  picked  out  by  the  points 
of  daggers,  rolled  about  the  pavements,  pursued  like  living 
things,  and  disputed  for  with  fury  j  the  high  altar  was  dispersed 
into  a  thousand  fragments  of  gold  and  silver;  the  seats,  the 
thrones,  the  pulpits,  the  balustrades,  vanished  as  if  destroyed 
by  an  avalanche  of  stone.  And  on,  in  bloody  waves,  came  un- 
ceasingly the  Asiatic  hordes  ;  and  soon  nothing  could-be  seen 
but  a  whirling  throng  of  drunken  robbers,  many  wrapped  in 
sacerdotal  robes  and  wearing  mitres  on  their  heads,  waving  in 


SANTA    SOFIA.  1 89 

the  air  their  spoils  of  chalices  and  sacred  vessels,  dragging 
along  files  of  slaves  bound  together  with  pontifical  girdles,  and 
in  the  midst  camels  and  horses  laden  with  booty,  slipping  upon 
the  pavement  encumbered  with  broken  statues,  and  scattered 
relics  of  saints  ;  a  wild  and  sacrilegious  orgy,  accompanied  by 
a  horrible  sound  made  up  of  shouts  of  triumph,  threats,  yells 
of  pain,  shrieks  of  women  and  girls,  and  the  blare  of  trumpets; 
until  suddenly  all  is  still,  and  upon  the  threshold  of  the  great 
portal  appears  Mahomet  the  Second  on  horseback,  surrounded 
by  a  group  of  princes,  viziers,  and  generals,  superb  and  impas- 
sible as  the  living  image  of  God's  vengeance,  and  rising  in  his 
stirrups,  he  launches  into  the  devastated  basilica,  with  a  re- 
sounding voice,  the  first  formula  of  the  new  religion : — "  Allah 
is  the  light  of  heaven  and  of  earth  1 " 


1 90  COATS  TANTINOPLE. 


DOLMA   BAGTCHE. 

Every  Friday  the  Sultan  goes  to  pray  in  one  of  the  mosques 
of  Constantinople.  We  saw  him  one  day  as  he  was  going  to 
the  mosque  of  Abdul-Medjid,  on  the  European  shore  of  the 
Bosphorus,  near  the  imperial  palace  of  Dolma  Bagtche. 

To  go  to  Dolma  Bagtche  from  Galata,  you  pass  through  the 
populous  quarter  of  Top-hane,  between  a  vast  arsenal  and  a 
great  cannon-foundry  ;  you  thread  the  Mussulman  suburb  of 
Funduche,  which  occupies  the  site  of  the  ancient  Ai'anteon,  and 
come  out  upon  a  spacious  square,  open  towards  the  sea,  beyond 
which,  along  the  shore  of  the  Bosphorus,  rises  the  famous  resi- 
dence of  the  Sultans.  It  is  the  largest  marble  mole  that  is  re- 
flected in  the  waters  of  the  strait  from  Seraglio  Point  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Black  Sea,  and  it  is  only  possible  to  get  a  view 
of  the  whole  of  it  from  a  boat.  The  facade,  which  is  nearly 
half  an  Italian  mile  in  length,  is  turned  towards  Asia,  and  can 
be  seen  for  a  great  distance,  shining  white  between  the  blue  of 
the  sea,  and  the  dark  green  of  the  hill.  *  It  is  not  properly  a 
palace,  because  the  architecture  is  not  that  of  one  unique  con- 
ception ;  the  different  parts  are  unconnected,  and  there  is  a 
confusion  of  styles,  the  Arabic,  Greek,  Gothic,  Turkish,  Roman, 
and  Renaissance,  all  mingled  together  ;  it  presents  the  majes- 
tic appearance  of  the  royal  palaces  of  Europe,  as  well  as  the 
almost  feminine  graces  of  the  Moorish  buildings  of  Seville  and 


DOLMA   BAGTCHE.  I9I 

Granada.  Instead  of  "  palace,"  it  might  be  called  "  the  Impe- 
rial City,"  like  that  of  the  Emperor  of  China  ;  and  the  more, 
that  by  its  vastness,  and  by  its  form,  it  seems  as  if  it  should  be 
inhabited  not  by  monarch  only,  but  by  the  royal  brothers  or 
friends  who  passed  their  time  in  idleness  and  pleasure.  From 
the  Bosphorus  it  presents  a  series  of  facades  of  temples  or 
theatres,  upon  which  there  is  such  an  indescribable  profusion 
of  ornaments,  that  they  seem  thrown,  as  a  Turkish  poet  says, 
by  the  hand  of  a  madman  ;  and  they  remind  one  of  those  fabu- 
lous pagodas  of  India,  which  fatigue  the  eye  at  the  first  glance, 
and  seem  the  images  of  the  infinite  caprices  of  the  licentious 
princes  who  dwell  within  their  walls. 

There  are  rows  of  Doric  and  Ionic  columns,  light  as  lances  ; 
windows  framed  in  festoons  with  little  fluted  columns ;  arches 
made  of  leaves  and  flowers,  that  curve  above  doors  worked  in 
delicate  tracery  ;  charming  balconies  with  openwork  parapets  ; 
trophies,  rosettes,  and  brackets  ;  intertwined  and  knotted  gar- 
lands ;  marble  caprices  playing  about  the  cornices,  around  the 
windows,  and  about  the  medallions  in  relief;  a  network  of 
arabesques  extending  from  the  doors  to  the  roofs,  a  magnificence 
and  perfection  of  architectural  ornament  that  gives  to  each  of 
the  smaller  palaces,  of  which  the  great  multiform  edifice  is  com- 
posed, the  appearance  of  having  been  carved  and  chased  by 
the  engraver's  hand.  It  seems  impossible  that  a  quiet  Arme- 
nian architect  could  have  conceived  it ;  but  rather  that  some 
enamored  Sultan  must  have  dreamed  it,  and  offered  it  to  the 
most  ambitious  of  his  beauties.  In  front  stretches  a  row  of 
monumental  pilasters,  united  by  gilded  railings,  which  repre- 
sent a  delicate  interlacing  of  flowering  branches,  and  which,  seen 


I92  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

from  a  distance,  look  like  curtains  of  lace  that  the  wind  might 
carry  away.  Long  flights  of  marble  steps  descend  from  the 
gates  to  the  water,  and  hide  themselves  in  the  sea.  Everything 
is  white,  fresh,  and  neat  as  if  the  palace  had  been  finished  but 
yesterday.  An  artistic  eye  might  discern  a  thousand  errors  of 
harmony  or  taste  ;  but  the  whole  effect  is  very  rich  and  splen- 
did, and  the  first  aspect  of  that  array  of  snow-white  royal 
buildings,  enamelled  like  jewels,  crowded  with  verdure, 
reflected  in  the  water,  leaves  an  impression  of  power,  mystery 
and  beauty,  that  almost  effaces  the  recollection  of  the  Old 
Seraglio.  Those  who  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  penetrate 
within  those  walls,  say  that  the  interior  corresponds  to  the  ex- 
terior ;  that  there  are  long  suites  of  rooms  painted  in  fresco 
with  fanciful  subjects  and  glowing  colors  ;  doors  of  cedar  and 
mahogany  carved  and  gilded,  which  open  upon  interminable 
corridors  illuminated  by  a  soft  light,  by  which  you  pass  into 
other  rooms  lighted  by  small  domes  of  crimson  glass,  and  bath 
rooms  which  seem  dug  out  of  a  single  block  of  Parian  marble  ; 
and  from  these  to  airy  terraces,  that  hang  above  mysterious 
gardens  and  groves  of  cypresses  and  roses,  through  which,  by 
long  perspectives  of  Moorish  porticoes,  can  be  seen  the  azure 
of  the  sea ;  and  windows,  terraces,  balconies,  kiosks,  all  are 
resplendent  with  flowers,  and  everywhere  water  sparkles  and 
falls  in  vaporous  veils  over  verdure  or  marble,  and  from  every 
side  open  divine  views  of  the  Bosphorus,  whose  invigorating 
air  spreads  through  all  the  recesses  of  the  royal  pile  $.  delicious 
freshness  from  the  sea. 

On  the  side  towards  Funduche'   there  is  a  monumental  and 
highly  ornamented  gate  ;  through  this  gate  the  Sultan  comes  to 


DOLMA   BAGTCHE.  1 93 

cross  the  square.  There  is  no  other  monarch  of  the  earth  who 
has  such  a  square  by  which  to  make  a  solemn  progress  from  his 
palace.  Standing  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  the  gate  of  the  palace 
can  be  seen  on  the  side,  looking  like  a  triumphal  arch  ;  on  the 
other  side  is  the  graceful  mosque  of  Abdul-Medjid,  flanked  by 
two  pretty  minarets  ;  in  front  the  Bosphorus  ;  beyond,  the  hills  of 
Asia,  green,  and  dotted  with  infinite  colors  of  kiosks,  palaces, 
mosques  and  villas,  giving  them  the  aspect  of  a  great  city, 
decked  for  a  festival ;  farther  on,  the  smiling  majesty  of  Scutari 
with  her  crown  of  cypresses ;  and  between  the  two  shores  a 
continual  passing  and  repassing  of  ships,  war  vessels  with  ban- 
ners flying,  small  steamers  crowded  with  people,  looking  as  if 
they  were  filled  with  flowers.  Asiatic  boats  of  strange  and  an- 
tique forms,  launched  from  the  Seraglio,  private  boats,  and 
flocks  of  birds  skimming  the  water  ;  a  scene  of  such  beauty,  and 
life,  and  joyousness,  that  the  stranger  who  stands  awaiting  the 
appearance  of  the  Imperial  cortege,  can  only  imagine  a  Sultan 
as  handsome  as  an  angel,  and  as  serene  as  a  boy. 

For  half  an  hour  already,  there  had  been  stationed  in  the 
square,  two  companies  of  Zouaves,  whose  duty  it  was  to  keep 
the  way  open  for  the  passage  of  the  Sultan,  and  a  thousand  or 
so  of  curious  spectators.  Nothing  is  more  odd  than  the  varie- 
ties of  people  who  assemble  on  such  occasions.  Here  and  there 
were  standing  some  splendid  coaches  of  Turkish  ladies  "  of  the 
high  aristocracy  "  within,  guarded  by  gigantic  eunuchs  on  horse- 
back, motionless,  on  either  side ;  a  few  English  ladies  in  hired 
open  carriages  ;  several  groups  of  travellers,  with  opera-glasses 
slung  by  straps  over  their  shoulders,  among  whom  I  recognized 
the  conquering  Count  of  the  hotel  of  Byzantium,  come. perhaps 
9 


194  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

cruel  man !  to  transfix  with  one  triumphant  glance,  his  potent 
and  unhappy  rival.  Among  the  crowd  were  a  few  hirsute 
figures  with  albums  under  their  arms,  who  might  be  artists  come 
to  make  a  furtive  sketch  of  the  Imperial  countenance.  Near 
the  band  of  music  was  a  handsome  French  woman,  dressed  very 
conspicuously,  bold  of  aspect,  and  of  attitude,  and  in  front  of 
everybody,  whom  I  took  to  be  a  cosmopolitan  adventuress,  come 
there  to  catch  the  Sultan's  eye,  for  I  thought  I  read  in  her  face 
"the  trembling  joy  of  a  great  purpose."  There  were  a  few  of 
those  old  Turks,  suspicious  and  fanatical  subjects,  who  never 
miss  seeing  their  Sultan  when  he  comes  forth,  because  they 
wish  to  be  assured  by  the  evidence  of  their  own  senses,  that  he 
is  alive  and  well  for  the  glory  and  prosperity  of  the  universe ; 
and  the  Sultan  appears  punctually  every  Friday,  to  give  his 
people  ocular  proof  of  his  existence,  for  it  might  happen  as  it 
has  happened  more  than  once,  that  his  natural  or  violent  death 
should  be  kept  secret  by  some  court  conspiracy.  There  were 
mendicants,  Mussulman  dandies,  eunuchs,  and  dervishes. 
Among  these  last  I  remarked  an  old  man,  tall  and  spare,  with 
terrible  eyes,  motionless,  who  kept  his  look  fixed  upon  the  pal- 
ace gate  with  a  most  sinister  expression.  I  fancied  him 
awaiting  the  Sultan  thus,  that  he  might  plant  himself  in  his  path, 
and  yell  in  his  face,  like  the  dervish  in  the  Orientate  to  Pasha  AH 
ofTepeleni: — "  Thou  art  nothing  but  a  dog  and  an  accursed 
one  !"  But  there  has  been  no  new  example  of  such  sublime  au- 
dacity since  the  famous  sabre  stroke  of  Mahmoud.  There  were 
also  sundry  groups  of  Turkish  women  standing  apart,  looking 
like  masqueraders,  and  the  usual  assemblage  of  theatrical  su- 
pernumeraries that  make  up  a  crowd  in  Constantinople. 


DOLMA   BAGTCHE.  1 95 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write,  the  eccentricities  of  Abdul 
Aziz  were  already  being  spoken  of.  His  insatiable  avidity  for 
money  was  known  and  discussed.  The  people  said  : — "  Mah- 
moud  the  lover  of  blood,  Abdul  Medjid  the  lover  of  women, 
Abdul  Aziz  the  lover  of  gold."  All  the  hopes  that  had  been 
founded  upon  him,  when  as  Imperial  prince  he  had  struck  down 
an  ox  with  his  fist,  saying,  "  Thus  will  I  kill  barbarisms,"  had 
long  since  vanished.  The  tendencies  to  a  simple  and  severe 
manner  of  life,  of  which  he  had  given  proof  in  the  first  years  of 
his  reign,  having,  as  it  was  said,  but  one  wife,  and  inexorably 
restricting  the  enormous  expenses  of  the  Seraglio,  were  only 
memories.  Perhaps  years  upon  years  had  gone  by  since  he 
had  given  up  those  studies  of  legislation,  of  military  science  and 
European  literature,  for  which  he  had  been  so  renowned,  as  if 
in  him  reposed  every  hope  for  the  regeneration  of  the  Empire. 
For  a  long  time  now  he  had  thought  only  of  himself.  Every 
moment  rumors  crept  out  of  his  wrath  against  the  minister  of 
finance,  who  would  not,  or  could  not  supply  all  the  money  that 
he  wanted.  At  the  first  word  of  expostulation,  he  would  launch 
the  first  object  that  came  to  his  hand  at  the  head  of  his  unfor- 
tunate Excellency,  reciting  with  what  voice  remained  to  him, 
the  antique  formula  of  the  imperial  oath  :  "  By  the  God  that 
created  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  by  the  Prophet  Mahomet, 
by  the  seven  variations  of  the  Koran,  by  the  hundred  and 
twenty-four  thousand  prophets  of  God,  by  the  soul  of  my  grand- 
father and  by  the  soul  of  my  father  ;  by  my  sons,  and  by  my 
sword,  bring  me  money  or  I  will  plant  your  head  upon  the  top 
of  the  highest  minaret  in  Stamboul."  And  by  one  means  or 
another  he  arrived  at  his  end,  and  the  money  thus  extorted  he 


I96  CONSTANTINOPLE 

sometimes  kept  and  accumulated,  guarding  it  jealously  like  a 
common  miser,  and  sometimes  squandered  it  by  handfuls  in  the 
most  puerile  caprices.  To-day  it  was  a  fancy  for  lions,  to-mor- 
row tigers,  and  messengers  were  sent  to  procure  them  in  India 
and  Africa ;  then  for  a  month  five  hundred  parrots  made  the 
imperial  gardens  ring  with  the  same  word  ;  then  came  a  rage 
for  carriages,  and  pianofortes,  which  he  would  have  played 
upon  while  they  were  upheld  on  the  backs  of  four  slaves  ;  then 
a  mania  for  cock-fights,  at  which  he  assisted  with  enthusiasm, 
and  with  his  own  hands  hung  a  medal  round  the  neck  of  the 
conqueror,  sending  the  vanquished  into  exile  beyond  the  Bos- 
phorus  ;  then  the  passion  for  play,  for  kiosks,  for  pictures  ;  the 
court  seemed  to  have  gone  back  to  the  times  of  the  first  Ibra- 
him ;  but  the  poor  prince  found  no  peace,  and  only  passed  from 
one  anxiety  and  trouble  to  another ;  he  was  sad  and  gloomy ; 
he  seemed  to  foresee  the  miserable  end  that  awaited  him. 
Sometimes  he  got  it  into  his  head  that  he  should  die  of  poison 
and  for  a  time,  suspicious  of  everybody,  would  eat  nothing  but 
boiled  eggs ;  sometimes,  seized  with  a  terror  of  conflagrations, 
he  would  have  every  wooden  thing  taken  out  of  his  rooms,  even 
to  the  frames  of  the  mirrors.  It  was  said  that,  in  his  dread  of 
fire,  he  read  every  night  by  the  light  of  a  candle  floating  in  a 
basin  of  water.  And  despite  these  follies,  the  reasons  for 
which  it  is  not  necessary  to  state,  he  preserved  the  force  of  his 
imperious  will,  and  knew  how  to  make  himself  obeyed,  and  to 
make  the  boldest  quail  before  him.  The  only  person  who  had 
any  influence  over  him  was  his  mother,  a  woman  of  a  vain  and 
haughty  disposition,  who  in  the  first  years  of  his  reign  used  to 
have  the  streets  leading  to  the  mosque  where  her  son  went  to 


DOLMA   BAGTCHE.  1 97 

pray,  carpeted  with  brocade,  and  the  next  day  gave  all  these 
carpets  to  the  slaves  whose  duty  it  was  to  remove  them.  Amid 
the  disorders  of  his  miserable  life,  between  his  greater  caprices, 
Abdul  Aziz  had  also  smaller  fancies,  such  as  that  of  wishing  to 
have  a  certain  door  painted  in  fresco  with  certain  fruits  and 
flowers,  arranged  in  a  given  manner,  and  having  prescribed 
everything  to  the  painter  in  the  minutest  manner,  he  would 
stand  and  watch  every  stroke  of  the  brush,  as  if  he  had  no  other 
care  in  the  world.  The  whole  city  gossiped  about  these  oddi- 
ties, greatly  exaggerated  no  doubt  by  the  thousand  tongues  of 
the  Seraglio,  and  perhaps  the  first  threads  of  the  web  of  con- 
spiracy that  pulled  him  from  his  throne  were  then  laid  down. 
His  fall,  as  the  Mussulmans  say,  was  written,  and  with  it  the 
sentence  that  was  pronounced  upon  him  and  upon  his  reign. 
The  which  is  not  very  different  from  that  which  might  be  given 
upon  almost  all  the  Sultans  of  the  later  times.  Imperial 
princes,  urged  towards  European  civilization  by  an  education, 
superficial,  but  various  and  liberal,  and  in  the  fervor  of  their 
youth  desirous  of  novelty  and  glory,  they  dreamed,  before  as- 
cending the  throne,  grand  designs  of  reform  and  change,  and 
made  firm  and  sincere  resolutions  of' dedicating  their  lives  to 
that  end,  lives  which  were  to  be  austere  with  labor  and  with 
struggle.  But  after  a  few  years  of  useless  effort,  surrounded  by 
a  thousand  obstacles,  born  of  habit  and  tradition,  opposed  by 
men  and  things,  terrified  at  the  unforeseen  difficulties  of  the 
undertaking,  they  gave  up  in  despair,  to  seek  in  pleasure  what 
glory  could  not  give,  and  to  lose  little  by  little  in  a  life  entirely 
sensual,  even  the  remembrance  of  their  first  ambition,  and  the 
consciousness  of  their  degradation.     Thus  it  happens  that  at 


198  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

the  accession  of  each  new  Sultan,  hopes  are  born,  not  without 
reason,  which  afterwards  die  in  complete  disillusion. 

Abdul  Aziz  did  not  make  us  wait.  At  the  hour  named,  a 
trumpet  call  was  heard,  the  band  burst  into  a  warlike  march, 
the  soldiers  presented  arms,  a  company  of  lancers  issued  from 
the  palace  gate,  and  the  Sultan  appeared,  advancing  slowly  on 
horseback,  followed  by  his  cortege.  He  passed  very  near  me 
and  I  had  plenty  of  time  to  examine  him  attentively.  My  fancy 
was  strangely  deluded.  The  king  of  kings,  the  prodigal,  violent, 
capricious,  imperious  Sultan,  who  was  then  about  forty-foui 
years  of  age,  had  the  air  of  a  good-natured  Turk,  who  seemed 
to  be  masquerading  as  Sultan  without  being  aware  of  it.  He 
was  a  stout,  thick-set  man,  with  a  handsome  face,  two  large 
eyes  of  calm  expression,  and  a  short  thick  beard,  slightly  griz- 
zled; he  had  an  open  and  mild  countenance,  and  his  bearing 
was  easy  and  modest ;  his  look  tranquil  and  slow,  in  which 
there  appeared  not  the  slightest  consciousness  of  the  thousand 
eyes  that  were  then  fixed  upon  him.  He  rode  a  grey  horse 
with  gold  housings,  a  beautiful  creature,  led  by  two  splendidly 
apparelled  grooms.  His  escort  followed  him  at  a  distance,  and 
from  this  alone  it  was  easy  to  know  him  for  the  Sultan.  His 
dress  was  very  plain.  He  wore  a  simple  fez,  a  long,  dark  frock- 
coat  buttoned  to  the  chin,  light-colored  trousers,  and  morocco 
boots.  He  advanced  slowly,  looking  about  him  with  an  expres- 
sion of  benevolence  and  weariness,  as  if  he  were  saying  to  him- 
self: — "  Ah !  if  they  only  knew  how  bored  I  am  !  "  The  Mus- 
sulmans bowed  themselves  profoundly;  many  Europeans  raised 
their  hats  ;  but  he  saluted  none  of  them.  Passing  near  us,  he 
gave  a  glance  at  a  tall  officer  who  saluted  with  his  sabre,  an- 


DOLMA   BAGTCHE.  1 99 

other  at  the  Bosphorus,  and  then  a  longer  one  at  two  young 
English  ladies  who  were  gazing  at  him  from  a  carriage,  and 
who  turned  as  red  as  strawberries  under  his  eyes.  I  observed 
that  his  hand  was  white  and  well-shaped,  the  same  right  hand 
that  two  years  afterwards  opened  his  veins  in  his  bath.  Behind 
him  came  a  throng  of  Pashas,  courtiers,  and  high  personages 
on  horseback ;  almost  all  large  men,  with  big  black  beards, 
dressed  simply,  silent,  grave,  composed,  as  if  following  a  funeral 
cortege  ;  then  came  a  number  of  grooms  leading  some  mag- 
nificent horses  ;  then  a  crowd  of  officials  on  foot  with  their 
breasts  covered  with  gold  cord  j  these  passed  by,  the  soldiers 
grounded  their  arms,  the  people  broke  into  groups  and  scattered 
about  the  square,  and  I  remained,  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
summit  of  Mount  Bulgurlei,  thinking  upon  the  singular  condi- 
tions in  which  a  Sultan  of  Stamboul  now  exists. 

He  is  a  Mahometan  monarch,  I  thought,  and  he  reigns  over 
a  Christian  city,  Pera,  that  towers  above  his  head.  He  is  the 
absolute  sovereign  of  one  of  the  vastest  empires  of  the  world, 
■  and  there  in  his  metropolis,  at  but  a  little  distance  from  him, 
within  great  palaces  that  look  down  upon  his  Seraglio,  four  or  five 
ceremonious  foreigners  play  the  master  in  his  house,  and  when 
they  treat  with  him,  hide  under  respectful  language  a  perpetual 
menace  at  which  he  trembles.  He  has  in  his  hands  measure- 
less power,  the  lives  and  fortunes  of  millions  of  subjects,  the 
means  of  satisfying  his  wildest  desires,  and  he  cannot  change 
the  form  of  his  head  covering.  He  is  surrounded  by  an  army 
of  courtiers  and  guards,  who  would  kiss  the  print  of  his  foot- 
step, and  he  trembles  for  his  own  life  and  that  of  his  children. 
He  possesses  a  thousand  of  the  most  beautiful  women  in  the 


200  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

world,  and  he  alone,  among  all  the  Mussulmans  of  his  Empire, 
cannot  call  a  free  woman  wife,  his  children  must  be  born  of 
slaves,  and  he  himself  is  called — "  Son  of  a  slave  " — by  the 
same  people  who  call  him  the  "shadow  of  God."  His  name 
resounds  with  reverence  and  terror  from  the  uttermost  confines 
of  Tartary  to  the  uttermost  confines  of  Maghreb,  and  in  his  own 
metropolis  there  is  an  innumerable  and  still  increasing  people, 
over  whom  he  has  not  a  shadow  of  power,  and  who  laugh  at  him, 
his  force,  and  his  faith.  Over  the  face  of  his  immense  empire, 
among  the  most  miserable  tribes  of  the  more  distant  provinces, 
in  mosques  and  solitary  convents  in  savage  lands,  ardent 
prayers  go  up  for  his  life  and  for  his  glory ;  and  he  cannot  take 
a  step  in  his  own  states  without  finding  himself  in  the  midst 
of  enemies,  who  execrate  him  and  invoke  the  vengeance  of 
heaven  upon  his  head.  For  all  that  part  of  the  world  which 
lies  in  front  of  his  realm,  he  is  one  of  the  most  august  and  most 
formidable  monurchs  of  the  universe ;  for  that  part  that  lies  at 
his  back,  he  is  the  weakest,  the  most  pusillanimous,  the  most 
wretched  man  that  wears  a  crown.  An  enormous  current  of 
ideas,  of  wills,  of  forces  contrary  to  the  nature  and  to  the  tradi- 
tions of  his  power,  flows  around  him,  overturns,  transforms, 
works  in  spite  of  him  and  without  his  knowledge,  at  the  destruc- 
tion of  laws,  customs,  manners,  usages,  beliefs,  men,  everything. 
And  he  is  there,  between  Europe  and  Asia,  in  his  great  palace 
washed  by  the  sea,  as  in  a  ship  ready  to  spread  her  sails,  in  the 
midst  of  an  infinite  confusion  of  ideas  and  things,  surrounded 
by  fabulous  splendor  and  an  immensity  of  misery,  already  ne  due 
ne  uno,  no  more  a  true  Mussulman,  not  yet  a  true  European, 
reigning  over  a  people  in  a  state  of  mutation,  barbarous  in 


DOLMA    BAGTCHE.  201 

blood,  civilized  in  aspect,  tvvo-fionted  like  Janus,  served  like  a 
god,  watched  like  a  slave,  adored,  envied,  deceived,  and  mean- 
time, every  day  that  passes  extinguishes  a  ray  of  his  aureole 
and  detaches  a  stone  from  his  pedestal.  To  me  it  seemed  that 
were  I  he,  tired  of  such  a  condition,  sated  with  pleasure,  sick 
of  adulation,  worn  out  with  constant  suspicion,  indignant  at  that 
insecure  and  idle  sovereignty  over  that  nameless  disorder,  some 
time,  at  the  hour  in  which  the  enormous  Seraglio  is  plunged  in 
sleep,  I  would  plunge  into  the  Bosphorus  like  a  fugitive  galley- 
slave,  and  would  go  and  pass  the  night  at  a  tavern  in  Galata  in 
the  midst  of  a  crew  of  mariners,  with  a  glass  of  beer  and  a  clay 
pipe,  singing  the  Marseillaise. 

After  half  an  hour  the  Sultan  passed  again  on  his  return, 
this  time  rapidly,  in  a  closed  carriage,  followed  by  a  number  of 
officers  on  foot,  and  the  spectacle  was  over.  That  which  made 
the  deepest  impression  upon  my  memory,  was  the  sight  of  those 
officers  in  full  uniform,  racing  along  like  a  crowd  of  lackeys,  be- 
hind the  imperial  carriage.  I  never  saw  before  such  a  pros- 
titution of  military  dignity. 

This  spectacle  of  the  passage  of  the  Sultan  has  become  a 
very  poor  affair.  The  Sultan  of  an  olden  time  issued  forth  in 
great  pomp,  preceded  and  followed  by  a  cloud  of  horsemen, 
slaves,  guards,  eunuchs,  and  chamberlains,  that  seen  from-  a 
distance,  say  enthusiastic  chroniclers,  looked  like  ''  a  vast  bed  of 
tulips."  The  Sultan  of  to-day  on  the  contrary  seems  to  take 
refuge  from  pomp  as  from  an  ostentatious  show  of  lost  grand- 
eur. What  would  one  of  those  earlier  monarchs  say  if  rising 
for  a  moment  from  his  sepulchre  at  Broussa  or  Stamboul,  he 
should  behold  one  of  his  descendants  of  the  nineteenth  century 


202  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

passing  by,  wrapped  in  a  long  black  frock  coat,  without  turban, 
without  scimetar,  without  a  jewel,  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  in- 
solent foreigners  ?  I  believe  that  he  would  blush  with  rage  and 
shame,  and  that  in  token  of  his  supreme  displeasure,  he  would, 
„  as  Soliman  the  First  did  to  Hassan,  cut  off  the  beard  of  his  un- 
worthy representative  with  one  sweep  of  his  sabre,  which  is  the 
deadliest  insult  that  can  be  offered  to  an  Osmanli.  It  is  true 
that  between  the  Sultans  of  those  days  and  these,  there  is  the 
same  difference  as  between  the  Ottoman  empire  of  to-day  and 
that  of  the  first  centuries.  Those  earlier  Sultans  did  really  gather 
into  themselves  all  the  youth,  the  beauty,  and  the  vigor  of  their 
race  ;  and  they  were  not  only  a  living  image  of  their  own  peo- 
ple, a  beautiful  and  visible  sign,  a  precious  pearl  upon  the  sword 
of  Islam,  but  they  constituted  in  themselves  alone  a  real  force, 
insomuch,  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  recognize  in  their  per- 
sonal qualities  one  of  the  most  efficient  reasons  for  the  marvel- 
lous increase  of  the  Ottoman  power.  The  finest  period  is  that  in 
the  first  youth  of  the  dy  pasty  that  embraces  one  hundred  and 
ninety-three  years  from  Osman  to  Mahomet  the  Second. 

That  was  indeed  a  chain  of  the  most  powerful  princes,  and 
with  one  single  exception,  and  due  account  taken  of  the  times 
and  the  condition  of  the  race,  they  were  austere,  wise  and  be- 
loved by  their  subjects,  often  ferocious,  but  rarely  unjust,  and 
sometimes  even  generous  and  beneficent  towards  their  enemies  ; 
and  it  is  easy  to  understand  that  such  princes  of  such  a  people 
must  have  been  handsome  and  striking  in  appearance,  true  lions, 
as  their  mothers  called  them,  "  whose  roar  made  the  earth  to 
tremble."  The  Abdul  Medjids,  the  Abdul  Aziz,  the  Murads, 
the  Hamids,  are  mere  pale  shadows  of  the  Padishah  in  com- 


DOLMA   BAGTCHE.  203 

parison  with  those  formidable  young  men,  sons  of  mothers  of 
fifteen  and  fathers  of  eighteen  years  of  age,  born  in  the  flower 
of  Tartar  blood,  and  of  Greek,  Persian,  and  Caucasian  beauty. 
At  fourteen  years  old  they  were  commanding  armies  and 
governing  provinces,  and  receiving  as  prizes  from  the  hands 
of  their  mothers,  slaves,  handsome  and  ardent  as  themselves. 
At  sixteen  they  were  fathers  and  at  seventy  as  well.  But  love 
in  them  did  not  undermine  and  weaken  soul  and  body.  Their 
souls  were  of  iron,  as  the  poets  sang,  and  their  bodies  of  steel. 
They  all  had  certain  marked  features  that  have  been  lost  in  their 
degenerate  descendants,  the  high  forehead,  the  eyebrows  arched 
and  meeting  like  those  of  the  Persians,  the  bluish  eyes  of  the  sons 
of  the  Steppes,  the  nose  curving  above  the  full  red  lips  "like  the 
beak  of  a  parrot  over  a  cherry,"  and  the  full  black  curling  beard, 
for  which  the  Seraglio  poets  were  ever  trying  to  find  beautiful 
and  terrible  similes.  They  had  "the  glance  of  the  eagle  of 
Mount  Taurus  and  the  strength  of  the  king  of  the  desert ; "  necks 
like  a  bull,  broad  shoulders,  and  capacious  chests,  "  that  could 
contain  all  the  warlike  fury  of  their  people,"  long  arms,  large 
joints,  legs  short  and  bowed,  that  could  make  the  vigorous  Tur- 
coman horses  neigh  with  pain,  and  large  hairy  hands  that  could 
wield  with  ease  the  maces  and  enormous  bows  of  their  soldiers 
of  bronze.  And  their  surnames  were  worthy  of  them  :  the  ath- 
lete, the  champion,  the  thunderbolt,  the  bone-crusher,  the  shed- 
der  of  blood.  After  Allah,  war  was  their  first  thought,  and 
death  their  last.  They  had  not  the  genius  of  great  captains, 
but  they  were  all  endowed  with  that  resolution  and  promptness 
of  action  that  often  takes  the  place  of  genius,  and  with  that 
ferocious  obstinacy  that  sometimes  brings  about  the  same  re- 


204  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

suits.  They  flew,  like  winged  furies,  over  the  field  of  battle, 
displaying  from  afar  the  heron  plumage  of  their  white  turbans 
and  their  ample  caftans  of  gold  and  purple,  and  their  savage 
yells  drove  before  them  the  flying  hordes  that  fell  like  sheep  un- 
der the  Servian  and  German  swords.  They  dashed  on  horse- 
back into  the  rivers,  and  swam  their  horses,  waving  above  their 
heads  their  scimetars  streaming  with  blood  ;  they  seized  by  the 
throat,  and  tore  from  the  saddle  as  they  passed,  a  slothful  or 
cowardly  pasha;  they  sprang  from  their  horses  in  the  rout,  and 
planted  their  jewelled  poniards  in  the  backs  of  the  flying  sol- 
diers ;  and,  wounded  to  death,  holding  the  wound  together, 
they  mounted  upon  a  rising  ground  to  show  their  janissaries 
their  pale  but  still  imperious  and  menacing  countenance,  be- 
fore they  fell,  groaning  with  rage,  but  not  with  pain.  They  were 
gentle  in  the  harem,  ferocious  in  the  camp,  humble  in  the  mosque, 
superb  upon  the  throne.  From  thence  they  spoke  a  language 
full  of  hyperbole  and  menace,  and  every  sentence  was  an  irre- 
vocable sentence,  that  declared  a  war,  or  raised  one  man  to  the 
height  of  fortune,  or  sent  the  head  of  another  rolling  down  the 
steps  of  the  throne,  or  unchained  a  tempest  of  fire  and  steel 
over  a  rebellious  province.  Thus  raging  like  a  whirlwind  from 
Persia  to  the  Danube  and  from  Arabia  to  Macedonia,  amid 
battles,  triumphs,  the  chase,  love,  they  passed  from  the  flower 
of  their  youth  to  a  manhood  still  more  turbulent  and  audacious, 
and  then  to  an  old  age  full  of  strength  and  fiery  vigor.  And 
not  only  in  age,  but  in  their  earlier  years,  it  sometimes  hap- 
pened that,  oppressed  by  the  weight  of  their  monstrous  power, 
suddenly  enlightened,  in  the  very  fury  of  victory  and  triumph, 
by  the  consciousness  of  a  more  than  human  responsibility,  and 


DOLMA   BAGTCHE.  20 5 

seized  by  a  species  of  terror  in  the  solitudes  of  their  own  great- 
ness, they  turned  their  souls  to  God,  and  passed  days  and  nights 
in  the  dim  recesses  of  their  own  gardens,  composing  religious 
poems,  or  they  went  to  the  sea  shore  and  meditated  upon  the 
Koran,  or  joined  the  frantic  dances  of  the  dervishes,  or  morti- 
fied the  flesh  with  fasts  and  hair-cloth  shirts  in  the  cavern  of 
some  aged  hermit.  And  as  in  life  so  in  death  they  almost  all 
presented  to  the  people  a  venerable  or  awful  figure,  whether 
they  died  with  the  serenity  of  saints  like  the  head  of  the  dynas- 
ty, or  weighed  down  with  glory  and  with  sadness  like  Orkau, 
or  by  the  dagger  of  a  traitor  like  Murad  the  First,  or  in  the  des- 
peration of  exile  like  Bajazet,  or  placidly  conversing  amid  a 
circle  of  wise  men  and  poets,  like  the  first  Mahomet,  or  in  the 
pain  of  defeat  like  the  second  Murad  ;  and  it  maybe  said  that 
their  threatening  phantoms  are  all  that  remain  of  greatest  and 
most  poetic  upon  the  blood-colored  horizon  of  Ottoman  history 


206  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


THE  TURKISH   WOMEN. 

It  is  a  great  surprise  for  those  arriving  for  the  first  time  at 
Constantinople,  after  having  heard  much  of  the  state  of  slavery 
in  which  the  women  are  kept,  to  see  women  from  all  parts,  and 
at  all  hours  of  the  day,  going  about  as  in  any  European  city. 
It  seems  as  if  all  those  imprisoned  birds  had  been  let  loose  on 
that  particular  day,  and  that  a  new  era  of  liberty  for  the  Mus- 
sulman fair  sex  was  beginning.  The  first  impression  is  most 
curious.  The  stranger  wonders  whether  all  those  white  veiled 
figures  in  bright  colored  wrappers  are  masqueraders,  or  nuns, 
or  mad  women  ;  and  as  not  one  is  ever  seen  accompanied  by  a 
man,  they  seem  to  belong  to  no  one,  and  to  be  all  girls  and 
widows,  or  members  of  some  great  association  of  the  "  ill-mar- 
ried." At  first  it  is  difficult  to  persuade  oneself  that  all  those 
Turks,  male  and  female,  that  meet  and  pass  without  taking  the 
slightest  notice  of  one  another,  can  have  associations  in  com- 
mon. One  is  constrained  to  stop  and  meditate  upon  these 
strange  figures  and  stranger  customs.  These  then,  you  think, 
these  are  really  those  "  conquerors  of  the  heart,"  those  "  founts 
of  pleasure,"  those  "  little  rose  leaves,"  those  "  early  ripening 
grapes,"  those  u  dews  of  the  morning,"  "  auroras,"  "  vivifiers," 
and  u  full  moons,"  of  which  a  thousand  poets  have  sung. 
These  are  the  hanums  and  the  mysterious  odalisques  that  we 
dreamed  of  when  we  were  twenty  years  old,  and  read  Victor 
Hugo's  ballads  in  the  shady  garden.     These  are  the  lovely  op- 


THE    TURKISH   WOMEN.  207 

pressed  ones,  imprisoned  behind  gratings,  watched  by  eunuchs, 
separated  from  the  world,  passing  by  upon  the  earth  like  phan- 
toms, with  a  cry  of  pleasure,  or  a  shriek  of  pain  ?  Let  us  see 
what  there  is  yet  of  truth  in  all  this  poetry. 

First  of  all,  then,  the  Turkish  woman's  face  is  no  longer  a 
mystery,  and  thus  a  great  part  of  the  poetry  that  surrounded 
her  has  vanished.  That  jealous  veil  that,  according  to  the 
Koran,  was  to  be  u  a  sign  of  her  virtue  and  a  guard  against  the 
talk  of  the  world,"  is  now  only  a  semblance.  Every  body 
knows  how  the  yashmak  is  fashioned.  There  are  two  large 
white  veils,  one  of  which,  bound  tightly  round  the  head  like  a 
bandage,  covers  the  forehead  down  to  the  eyebrows,  and  is  tied 
behind  upon  the  nape  of  the  neck,  falling  in  two  long  ends 
down  the  back  as  far  as  the  girdle ;  the  other  covers  the  whole 
of  the  lower  part  of  the  face  up  to  the  eyes,  and  is  knotted  in 
with  the  first  so  that  the  two  seem  but  one.  But  these  veils, 
that  should  be  of  muslin,  and  drawn  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
leave  only  the  eyes  exposed,  are  in  reality  of  transparent  tulle, 
and  so  loosely  put  on,  that  not  only  the  face,  but  the  ears,  neck 
and  hair,  are  seen,  and  very  often  also  a  European  hat,  trimmed 
with  flowers  and  feathers,  worn  by  the  "  reformed "  ladies. 
And  thus  it  happens  that  just  the  contrary  of  what  once  ob- 
tained is  now  the  custom,  for  the  older  women,  who  were  allowed 
to  uncover  their  faces  a  little,  are  now  the  most  closely  veiled, 
while  the  younger,  and  more  especially  the  handsome  ones,  who 
were  always  rigorously  hidden,  are  now  quite  visible.  Thus  an 
infinity  of  charming  surprises  and  lovely  mysteries,  dear  to  the 
poet  and  romancists,  are  no  longer  possible ;  and  among  other 
fables,  is  that  one  that  the  husband  beholds  the  face  of  his  bride 


208  •  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

for  the  first  time  on  his  marriage  night.  But  beyond  the  face, 
every  thing  else,  shoulders,  arms  and  waist,  are  scrupulously 
hidden  by  iheferedje,  a  kind  of  long  tunic,  furnished  with  a  cape 
and  long,  wide  sleeves,  a  shapeless  garment,  falling  like  a  sack 
from  shoulder  to  feet,  made  of  cloth  in  winter  and  silk  in  sum- 
mer, and  of  one  generally  very  brilliant  color.  Sometimes 
it  is  bright  red,  sometimes  orange,  sometimes  green  ;  and  one 
or  the  other  color  predominates  from  year  to  year,  while  the 
form  remains  unchanged.  But  such  is  the  art  with  which  they 
know  how  to  adjust  the  yashmak,  that  the  handsome  appears 
still  handsomer,  and  the  plain  very  agreeable.  It  is  impossible 
to  say  what  they  contrive  to  do  with  those  two  veils,  with  what 
grace  they  arrange  them  in  coronets  or  turbans,  with  what  an 
amplitude  and  nobility  of  folds  they  twist  them  about,  with  what 
lightness  and  elegance  they  let  them  float  and  fall,  making  them 
serve  at  once  to  display,  to  conceal,  to  promise,  to  propose  a 
problem,  or  to  betray  some  little  marvel  unexpectedly.  Some 
seem  to  be  wearing  around  their  heads  a  white,  transparent 
cloud,  that  would  vanish  with  a  puff;  others  look  as  if  they 
were  crowned  with  lilies  and  jasmine  flowers ;  all  have  very 
white  skins,  and  the  veil  adds  a  new  charm  of  whiteness  and 
softness  and  freshness.  It  is  a  costume  at  once  austere  and 
sweet,  that  has  something  virginal  and  holy  about  it ;  under 
which  none  but  gentle  thoughts  and  innocent  fancies  should 
have  birth.     But  there  is  born  a  little  for  everything. 

It  is  difficult  to  define  the  beauty  of  the  Turkish  woman. 
I  may  say  that  when  I  think  of  her,  I  see  a  very  fine  face,  two 
black  eyes,  a  crimson  mouth,  and  an  expression  of  sweetness. 
Almost  all  of  them,  however,  are  painted.     They  whiten  their 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  209 

faces  with  almond  and  jasmine  paste,  they  lengthen  and  darken 
their  eyebrows  with  Indian  ink,  they  tint  their  eyelids,  they 
powder  their  throats,  they  put  a  dark  circle  round  their  eyes, 
they  wear  patches  on  their  cheeks.  But  they  do  it  all  with  taste, 
not  like  the  beauties  of  Fez,  who  paint  themselves  with  a  white- 
wash brush.  The  greater  part  of  them  have  fine  oval  faces,  the 
nose  a  little  arched,  full  lips  and  round  chins,  with  dimples; 
many  have  dimples  also  in  their  cheeks ;  a  beautiful  throat,  long 
and  flexible;  and  small  hands,  almost  always  hidden,  unfortu- 
nately, by  the  long  sleeves  of  their  mantles.  Almost  all  are 
rather  fat,  and  many  are  above  the  middle  height ;  it  is  rare  to 
see  a  dumpy  or  a  long,  thin  woman,  as  in  our  country.  All  have 
a  common  defect  of  walking  with  a  stoop,  and  a  certain  waddle 
like  that  of  a  big  baby  suddenly  grown  up ;  which  comes,  it  is 
said,  from  a  weakness  of  limb  caused  by  abuse  of  the  bath,  and 
also  somewhat  from  their  awkward,  ill-fitting  slippers.  In  fact 
it  is  common  to  see  very  elegant  ladies,  who  must  have  small, 
delicate  feet,  shod  with  men's  slippers,  or  long  wide  boots, 
wrinkled  all  over,  that  a  European  ragpicker  would  disdain. 
But  even  in  this  ugly  manner  of  walking  there  is  a  kind  of  girlish 
air,  that  when  one  is  used  to  it,  is  not  displeasing.  Of  those 
figures  like  fashion  plates  so  frequent  in  European  cities,  that 
walk  like  puppets,  and  look  as  if  they  were  hopping  on  the 
squares  of  a  chess  board,  there  are  none  to  be  seen.  They  have 
not  yet  lost  the  stately,  negligent  grace  of  the  Oriental,  and  if 
they  were  to  lose  it,  they  might  be  more  dignified,  but  certainly 
would  be  less  interesting.  There  are  beautiful  figures  among 
them,  of  a  great  variety  of  beauty,  according  as  there  is  a  min- 
gling of  Turkish,  Arabic,  Circassian,  or  Persian  blood.     There 


2IO  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

are  matrons  of  thirty,  of  opulent  forms  which  the  fcred/e  fails  to 
conceal,  very  tall,  with  great  dark  eyes,  full  lips  and  dilated 
nostrils — hanmns  to  strike  terror  with  a  look  into  the  souls  of  a 
hundred  slaves. 

There  are  others  small  and  plump,  who  have  everything 
round — face,  eyes,  nose,  and  mouth — and  an  air  of  such  gentle- 
ness, benevolence,  and  childishness,  an  appearance  of  such  en- 
tire and  mild  resignation  to  their  destiny,  and  of  being  nothing 
but  toys  and  things  for  recreation,  that  passing  near  them  one 
is  tempted  to  pop  a  sugar  plum  into  their  mouths.  And  there 
are  the  slender  forms  of  wives  of  sixteen,  ardent  and  vivacious, 
with  eyes  full  of  caprice  and  cunning,  who  inspire  in  the  be- 
holder a  sentiment  of  pity  for  the  poor  effendi  who  has  to  control 
them,  and  the  unfortunate  eunuch  who  is  obliged  to  watch 
them.  The  city  makes  an  admirable  frame  for  their  beauty  and 
their  costume.  These  white-veiled,  purple-robed  figures  should 
be  seen  seated  in  a  caique  in  the  midst  of  the  blue  waters  of 
the  Bosphorus ;  or  reclining  on  the  grass  under  the  green  shade 
of  the  cemeteries  ;  or  better  still,  coming  down  a  steep  and  soli- 
tary street  of  Stamboul,  shut  in  at  the  back  by  a  great  plane 
tree,  the  wind  blowing,  and  the  veil  and  feredfi  streaming  out, 
and  displaying  throat,  and  foot  and  ankle;  and  I  assure  you 
that  in  that  moment,  if  the  indulgent  decree  of  Soliman  the 
Magnificent  were  still  in  vigor,  that  mulcted  in  an  aspro  every 
kiss  given  to  the  wife  or  daughter  of  another  man,  Harpagon 
himself  would  kick  avarice  aside.  And  when  the  wind  blows  the 
Mussulman  woman  does  not  put  herself  out  to  hold  down  hei 
feredjl,  because  her  modesty  does  not  extend  below  her  knee, 
and  sometimes  stops  a  good  bit  above  it. 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  211 

One  thing  that  is  astonishing,  at  first,  is  their  way  of  looking 
and  laughing,  which  would  excuse  the  boldest  advance.  It  fre- 
quently happens  that  a  European  looking  fixedly  at  a  Turkish 
lady,  even  one  of  high  rank,  is  rewarded  by  a  smiling  glance,  or 
an  open  laugh.  It  is  not  rare,  either,  for  a  handsome  hanum 
in  a  carriage  to  give  a  gracious  salute  with  her  hand,  behind 
the  eunuch's  back,  to  a  Frankish  gentleman  who  has  pleased 
her  fancy.  Sometimes  in  a  cemetery,  or  in  a  retired  street,  a 
capricious  lady  will  go  so  far  as  to  throw  a  flower  as  she  passes, 
or  to  let  it  fall  with  the  manifest  intention  that  it  shall  be  picked 
up  by  the  elegant  giaour  who  is  behind  her.  In  this  way  a 
fatuous  traveller  may  be  very  much  deluded,  and  there  are  in- 
deed some  simple  beings,  who  after  having  passed  a  month  in 
Constantinople,  really  imagine  in  perfect  good  faith  that  they 
have  destroyed  the  peace  of  a  hundred  unfortunate  women. 
No  doubt  there  is,  in  these  acts,  an  ingenuous  expression  of 
sympathy,  but  there  is  still  more  of  a  spirit  of  rebellion,  which 
all  the  Turkish  women  have  in  their  hearts,  born  of  the  subjec- 
tion in  which  they  are  held,  and  which  they  show,  when  they 
can,  in  these  foolish  tricks,  thus  spiting  their  masters,  even  in 
secret.  They  do  it  more  from  childishness  than  from  coquetry, 
and  their  coquetry  is  of  a  singular  kind,  resembling  much  the 
first  experiments  of  little  girls,  when  they  become  aware  that 
they  are  being  looked  at.  It  is  a  broad  laugh,  or  a  look  up- 
wards, with  mouth  open  and  an  expression  of  astonishment,  or 
a  pretending  to  have  a  pain  in  the  head  or  the  leg,  or  a  wilful 
jerking  of  the  embarrassing  folds  of  the  feredje,  school-girl  tricks 
that  seem  intended  to  excite  laughter  rather  than  to  seduce. 
Never  an  affected  or  artificial  attitude.    The  little  art  they  show 


2 1 2  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

is  entirely  rudimental.  One  can  see,  as  Tommaseo  says,  that 
they  have  not  many  veils  to  lift;  that  they  are  not  accustomed 
to  a  long  wooing,  and  that  when  they  feel  an  attraction  towards 
any  one,  instead  of  sighing  and  rolling  their  eyes  in  suspense, 
they  will  go  straight  to  their  point,  and  if  they  could  express 
their  sentiments,  would  say: — Christian,  thou  pleasest  me! 
Not  being  able  to  do  that,  they  make  it  frankly  visible,  showing 
two  rows  of  shining  pearl-like  teeth,  or  laughing  out  in  his  face. 
They  are  pretty  tamed  Tartars. 

And  they  are  free  ;  it  is  a  truth  apparent  to  the  stranger 
almost  as  soon  as  he  arrives.  It  is  an  exaggeration  to  say,  like 
Lady  Montague,  that  they  are  more  free  than  Europeans  ;  but 
whoever  has  been  at  Constantinople  can  not  but  laugh  when 
he  hears  them  spoken  of  as  "  slaves."  Ladies,  when  they  wish 
to  go  out,  order  the  eunuchs  to  prepare  the  carriage,  ask  no 
one's  permission,  and  come  back  when  they  please,  provided  it 
is  before  nightfall.  Formerly,  they  could  not  go  without  being 
accompanied  by  a  eunuch,  or  by  a  female  slave,  or  friend,  and 
the  boldest  were  at  least  obliged  to  take  one  of  their  children 
with  them,  who  served  as  a  sign  of  respectability.  If  any 
woman  appeared  alone  in  a  retired  street  or  square, 
some  city  guard  or  rigorous  old  Turk  was  sure  to  accost  her 
and  demand:  "Whither  goest  thou?  Whence  comest  thou  ? 
Why  art  thou  alone  ?  Is  this  the  way  thou  respectest  thy 
effendi  ?  Return  at  once  to  thy  abode  !"  But  now  they  go  out 
alone  by  hundreds,  and  are  seen  at  all  hours  in  the  Mussulman 
suburbs,  and  in  the  Frank  quarters.  They  go  to  pay  visits  to 
their  friends,  they  pass  half  the  day  in  the  bath  houses,  they  go 
about  in  boats  ;  on  Thursdays  to  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Europe, 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  21 3 

on  Sundays  to  those  of  Asia,  on  Tuesdays  to  the  cemetery  of 
Scutari,  on  other  days  to  the  islands,  to  Terapia,  to  Bujukdere, 
to  Kalender,  to  lunch  with  their  slave  women,  in  companies  of 
eight  or  ten.  They  go  to  pray  at  the  tombs  of  the  Sultans,  to 
see  the  dervishes  at  their  convents,  to  visit  the  public  exhibitions 
of  nuptial  trousseaux,  and  there  is  not  the  sign  of  a  man  accom- 
panying or  following  them,  nor  would  any  presume  to  accost 
them,  even  when  quite  alone.  To  see  a  Turk  in  the  streets  of 
Constantinople — not  with  a  lady  on  his  arm  or  at  his  side,  but 
stopping  for  one  instant  to  speak  with  a  "veiled  woman,"  even 
if  they  bore  husband  and  wife  written  on  their  foreheads,  would 
appear  to  all  the  strangest  of  strange  things,  or  rather  an  un- 
heard-of piece  of  impudence,  such  as  it  would  be  in  our  streets 
were  a  man  and  woman  to  make  love  to  each  other  pro  bono 
publico.  In  this  way,  the  Turkish  women  are  really  more  free 
than  their  European  sisters,  and  their  delight  in  their  liberty  is 
indescribable,  and  the  wild  excitement  with  which  they  rush 
into  noise,  crowds,  light,  open  air,  they  who  in  their  own  homes 
never  see  but  one  man,  and  live  behind  grated  windows  and  in 
cloistered  gardens.  They  go  about  the  city  with  the  joy  of  a 
liberated  prisoner.  It  is  amusing  to  watch  one  of  them  from  a 
distance,  and  following  her  footsteps  afar  off,  observe  how  she 
prolongs  and  spreads  out  the  pleasure  of  vagabondizing.  She 
enters  a  mosque  near  by  to  say  a  prayer,  and  stays  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  under  the  portico  chattering  with  a  friend  ;  then  to 
the  bazaar  to  look  in  at  a  dozen  shops  and  turn  two  or  three 
upside  down  in  search  of  some  trifle  ;  then  she  takes  the  tram- 
way, gets  out  at  the  fish  market,  crosses  the  bridge,  stops  to 
contemplate  all  the  braids  and  wigs  in   the  hair  dresser's  win- 


2 1 4  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

dows,  in  the  street  of  Pera,  enters  a  cemetery  and  eats  a  sweet- 
meat, sitting  on  a  tomb,  returns  to  the  city,  goes  down  to  the 
Golden  Horn,  turning  a  hundred  corners,  and  glancing  at 
every  thing  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye, — shop  windows,  prints, 
placards,  advertisements,  people  passing,  carriages,  signs,  thea- 
tre doors, — buys  a  bunch  of  flowers,  drinks  a  lemonade,  gives 
alms  to  a  poor  man,  crosses  the  Golden  Horn  in  a  caique,  and 
walks  about  Stamboul ;  there  she  takes  the  tramway  again,  and 
arriving  at  her  own  door,  is  capable  of  turning  back,  to  make 
the  tour  of  a  group  of  small  houses  ;  exactly  as  children  coming 
out  for  the  first  time  alone,  seek  to  make  the  most  of  their  lib- 
erty, and  see  a  little  of  everything.  Any  poor  corpulent  effendi 
who  should  try  to  follow  his  wife  to  spy  out  her  actions,  would 
be  left  behind  before  half  the  journey  was  accomplished. 

To  see  the  Mussulman  fair  sex,  it  is  well  to  go  one  day  to 
the  great  festival  of  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Europe,  at  the  end  of 
the  Golden  Horn,  or  to  those  of  Asia,  near  the  village  of  Ana- 
duli-Hissar  ;  which  are  two  great  public  gardens,  covered  with 
groves  of  trees,  watered  by  two  small  rivers,  and  sprinkled  with 
cafes  and  fountains.  There  over  a  vast  grassy  plain,  in  the 
shade  of  nut  trees,  pines,  plane  trees  and  sycamores,  forming  a 
succession  of  green  pavilions  where  no  ray  of  sun  penetrates, 
are  to  be  seen  thousands  of  Turkish  women  seated  in  groups 
and  circles,  surrounded  by  their  female  slaves,  eunuchs  and 
children,  lunching  and  frolicking  for  half  the  day,  in  the  midst 
of  crowds  of  people  coming  and  going.  They  have  hardly  ar- 
rived when  they  seem  to  fall  into  a  sort  of  dream.  It  seems 
like  a  festival  in  the  paradise  of  Islam.  Those  myriads  of 
white  veiled  figures,  clothed  in  feredjes  of  scarlet,  yellow,  green, 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  21 5 

and  grey,  those  innumerable  groups  of  slaves  in  many-colored 
garments,  that  throng  of  children  in  fanciful  dresses,  the  large 
Smyrna  carpets  spread  on  the  ground,  the  gold  and  silver  ves- 
sels, or  what  looked  like  such,  passing  from  hand  to  hand,  the 
Mussulman  coffee-seller  in  gala-dress,  running  about  carrying 
fruits  and  ices,  zingari  dancing,  Bulgarian  shepherds  piping, 
horses  trapped  with  silk  and  gold  fastened  to  trees,  pashas, 
beys,  and  young  gentlemen  galloping  by  the  river  side,  the 
movement  of  the  distant  crowd  like  a  field  of  flowers,  many- 
colored  caiques,  and  splendid  carriages  arriving,  to  mingle  other 
colors  with  that  sea  of  color,  and  the  murmur  of  songs,  flutes, 
and  other  instruments,  the  voices  of  children,  in  the  midst  of 
that  loveliness  of  green  shadow,  varied  here  and  there  with 
glimpses  of  the  sun-lit  landscape  beyond  ;  all  present  a  specta- 
cle so  gay  and  so  new,  that  one  is  tempted  to  clap  one's  hands 
and  cry  out — Bravissimo  !  as  in  a  theatre. 

Even  here,  in  spite  of  the  confusion,  it  is  extremely  rare  to 
catch  a  Turkish  couple  in  the  act  of  exchanging  amorous 
glances,  or  smiles  and  gestures  of  mutual  intelligence.  Gal- 
lantry coram  populo  does  not  exist  there  as  in  Italy  ;  there  is  to 
be  found  neither  the  melancholy  sentinel  who  passes  up  and 
down  under  the  window  of  his  lady,  nor  the  panting  rear-guard 
following  for  three  hours  on  the  stretch  in  the  footsteps  of  his 
goddess.  If  it  should  happen  that  in  some  deserted  street,  a 
young  Turk  is  surprised  looking  up  at  a  grated  window,  from 
which  sparkles  a  black  eye,  or  a  white  hand  waves  for  an  in- 
stant, you  may  be  quite  certain  that  the  couple  are  betrothed. 
To  the  betrothed  alone  is  permitted  the  sweet  childishness  of 
official  love-making,  such  as  speaking  from  a  distance  by  means 


2 1 6  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

of  a  flower,  or  a  ribbon,  or  the  color  of  a  dress,  or  a  scarf.  And 
in  these  matters  the  Turkish  lady  is  mistress.  They  have  a 
thousand  objects,  among  flowers,  fruits,  leaves,  feathers,  stones, 
each  one  of  which  possesses  a  specific  meaning,  being  an  epithet 
or  a  verb  or  even  a  complete  sentence,  so  that  they  can  make  a 
letter  out  of  a  bunch  of  flowers,  or  say  a  hundred  things  with  a 
box  or  purse  full  of  various  small  objects  that  seem  to  have 
been  gathered  together  casually  ;  a  clove,  a  strip  of  paper,  a 
section  of  a  pear,  a  bit  of  soap,  a  match,  a  little  gold  thread 
and  a  small  portion  of  cinnamon  and  pepper,  express  the  fol- 
lowing : — "  I  have  loved  you  long — I  burn,  I  languish,  I  die  for 
love  of  you.  Give  me  a  little  hope — do  not  repulse  me — send 
me  one  word  of  reply."  They  can  say  many  other  things  be- 
sides ;  reproof,  advice,  warning,  information,  all  can  be  con- 
veyed in  this  way;  and  youthful  swains,  in  their  first  attack  of 
palpitation,  find  much  occupation  in  learning  the  symbolical 
phrases  and  composing  long  letters  addressed  to  lovely  sul- 
tanas seen  only  in  their  dreams.  There  is  also  the  language 
of  gesture,  some  of  which  is  most  graceful ;  that,  for  instance, 
of  the  man  for  example  who  feigns  to  tear  his  breast,  signifying : 
"1  am  torn  by  the  furies  of  love;"  to  which  the  lady  replies  by 
letting  both  her  arms  fall  at  her  sides ;  which  means  ;  "  I  open 
my  arms  to  thee."  But  there  is  not  perhaps  one  European 
who  has  ever  seen  these  things ;  which,  for  the  rest  are  now 
more  traditional  than  customary.  The  Turkish  ladies  would 
blush  to  speak  of  them,  and  only  here  and  there  some  ingenu- 
ous hanum  might  confide  them  to  some  Christian  friend  of  her 
own  sex. 

In  this  way  also  only  can  we  know  how  the  Turkish  woman 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  21? 

is  dressed  within  the  walls  of  the  harem,  wearing  that  beautiful, 
capricious,  and  pompous  costume,  of  which  we  all  have  some 
idea,  and  which  gives  to  its  wearer  a  princely  dignity,  as  well 
as  a  child-like  grace.  We  shall  never  see  it,  unless  the  fashion 
is  adopted  in  our  own  country,  for  even  if  some  day  the  feredjc 
should  be  thrown  aside,  the  lovely  Turks  would  be  found  to 
wear  the  European  dress  underneath.  What  a  disappointment 
for  the  painters,  and  what  a  pity  !  Imagine  a  beautiful  woman, 
"  slender  as  a  cypress,"  and  blushing,  "  with  all  the  colors  of  the 
rose,"  wearing,  a  little  on  one  side  of  her  head,  a  small  round 
cap  of  crimson  velvet  embroidered  with  silver ;  her  black  tresses 
falling  over  her  shoulders  ;  her  vest  of  white  damask  worked 
with  gold,  with  wide,  open  sleeves,  and  parting  in  front  to  dis- 
play her  full  drawers  of  rose-colored  silk,  falling  in  many  folds 
over  her  small  feet  clothed  in  slippers  with  turned  up  Chinese 
points  ;  a  sash  of  green  satin  round  her  waist;  diamonds  on  her 
neck,  in  her  hair,  at  her  girdle,  on  her  arms,  in  her  ears,  on  the 
border  of  her  cap,  on  her  slippers,  buttoning  the  neck  of  her 
chemise,  and  across  her  forehead  ;  glittering  from  head  to  foot 
like  a  Spanish  Madonna,  and  lying  in  a  childish  attitude,  upon 
a  broad  divan,  surrounded  by  her  Circassian,  Arab,  and  Per- 
sian slave  women,  wrapped  like  antique  statues  in  their  flowing 
robes ;  or  imagine  a  bride,  "  white  as  the  crest  of  Olympus," 
dressed  in  pale  blue  satin,  and  all  covered  with  a  veil  of  woven 
gold,  seated  upon  a  pearl  embossed  ottoman,  in  front  of  which, 
upon  a  carpet  from  Teheran,  kneels  the  bridegroom,  making 
his  final  prayer  before  uncovering  his  treasure.  This  home 
dress,  however,  is  subject  to  the  caprice  of  fashion.  The 
women,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  pass  their  time  in  devising 
10 


2 1 8  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

new  adornments ;  cover  themselves  with  trinkets  and  fringes, 
put  feathers  and  ribbons  in  their  hair,  tie  bands  around  their 
foreheads,  and  strips  of  fur  about  their  necks  and  arms  ;  bor- 
rowing something  from  every  kind  of  Oriental  costume.  And 
they  mingle  European  fashions  with  their  own  as  well ;  they 
wear  false  hair,  and  dye  their  own  black,  blonde,  red,  making 
themselves  as  artificial  and  ridiculous  as  the  most  ambitious 
of  their  European  sisters ;  and  doubtless  if  by  the  waving  of  a 
magic  wand  at  the  Sweet  Waters,  all  the  feredjes  could  be  made 
to  fall,  we  should  see  as  great  and  strange  varieties  of  costume 
among  the  women  as  are  to  be  seen  among  the  men  upon  the 
bridge  of  the  Sultana  Valide. 

The  apartments  in  which  these  rich  and  lovely  ladies  dwell 
correspond  in  some  sort  with  their  seductive  and  bizarre  attire. 
The  rooms  reserved  for  the  women  are  generally  well  situated, 
commanding  marvellous  views  of  country,  sea,  and  city.  Below, 
there  is  a  garden  shut  in  by  high  walls  clothed  with  ivy  and 
jessamine  ;  above,  a  terrace  ;  on  the  street  side,  small  pro- 
jecting rooms  enclosed  with  glass  like  the  miradoresoi  the  Span- 
ish houses.  The  rooms  are  almost  always  small ;  the  floors 
covered  with  Chinese  mats  and  carpets,  the  ceilings  painted  with 
flowers  and  fruit,  large  divans  running  along  the  walls,  a  marble 
fountain  in  the  middle,  vases  with  flowers  in  the  windows,  and 
that  vague,  soft  light,  peculiar  to  Oriental  houses,  dim  and 
shaded,  like  a  wood,  or  like  a  cloister,  or  sacred  spot,  where  you 
are  impelled  to  walk  and  speak  softly,  and  to  use  gentle,  sweet 
words,  discoursing  only  of  God  and  love.  The  decorations  of 
these  harems  are  generally  simple  and  severe,  but  there  are 
some  of  great  magnificence,  with  their  walls  covered  with  white 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  219 

satin  embroidered  in  gold,  ceilings  of  cedar  wood,  gilded 
gratings,  and  very  rich  furniture.  The  manner  of  life  may  be 
divined  from  the  furniture.  It  consists  of  easy  chairs,  large 
and  small  ottomans,  little  carpets,  stools  and  foot-benches, 
cushions  of  every  description,  and  mattresses  covered  with 
shawls,  and  brocades ;  the  whole  of  the  softest  and  most  luxu- 
rious description.  Here  and  there  may  be  seen  hand  mirrors 
and  large  fans  of  ostrich  feathers  ;  carved  chibouks  are  suspended 
on  the  walls ;  there  are  cages  full  of  birds  in  the  windows,  per- 
fume-burners and  musical  clocks  on  the  tables,  toys  and  small  ob- 
jects of  every  kind  testifying  to  the  puerile  caprices  of  an  idle  wo- 
man. Nor  is  this  luxury  confined  to  the  things  that  are  seen. 
There  are  houses  in  which  the  table  service  is  of  gold  and  sil- 
ver, the  napkins  are  of  satin  fringed  with  gold,  brilliants  and  other 
stones  glitter  on  the  forks  and  spoons,  the  coffee  cups,  pipes,  wine 
coolers,  and  fans  ;  and  there  are  other  houses,  in  much  greater 
number,  of  course,  in  which  almost  nothing  has  been  changed 
from  the  time  of  the  Tartar  tent,  where  everything  could  be 
packed  upon  one  mule's  back,  and  be  ready  for  a  new  pilgrim- 
age across  Asia  ;  houses  of  primitive  austerity  and  pure  Ma- 
hometanism,  in  which,  when  the  hour  for  departure  shall  arrive, 
no  sound  shall  be  heard  but  the  wild  voice  of  the  master,  say- 
ing :   Olsun  ! — So  let  it  be  ! 

The  Turkish  house  is  divided,  as  we  know,  into  two  parts : 
the  harem  and  the  selamlik.  The  selamlik  is  the  part  reserved 
for  the  man.  Here  he  works,  receives  his  friends,  takes  his 
noon-day  nap,  and  generally  lives.  The  wife  never  enters  it. 
As  in  the  selamlik  the  man  is  master,  so  the  woman  is  mis- 
tress in  the  harem.     She  has  full  powers  of  administration  there 


220  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

and  can  do  anything  she  pleases  except  receive  men.  When 
she  does  not  choose  to  receive  her  husband,  she  can  decline  his 
visit,  and  politely  request  him  to  come  another  time.  One  sin- 
gle door  and  a  small  corridor  divide  the  harem  from  the  selam- 
lik  ;  but  they  are  as  distinct  as  two  separate  houses.  The  ser- 
vants of  each  part  belong  only  to  that,  and  there  are  two 
kitchens.  Rarely  the  husband  dines  with  his  wife,  especially 
when  there  is  more  than  one.  The  wife,  however,  must  be 
always  prepared  for  her  master's  visit,  dressed  and  looking  her 
best,  ready  to  vanquish  a  rival,  and  to  preserve  as  best  she  may 
a  predominance  that  is  always  in  danger ;  she  must  be  some- 
thing of  a  courtezan,  exercising  such  self-control  as  shall  secure 
a  smiling  aspect  of  things  about  her  lord,  and  even  when  her 
heart  is  sorrowful,  display  the  radiant  visage  of  a  happy  and 
fortunate  woman,  so  that  he  may  not  be  disgusted  and  repelled. 
Thus  the  husband  is  rarely  acquainted  with  his  wife,  whom  he 
never  has  known  either  as  a  girl,  sister,  or  friend  ;  whom  he 
does  not  know  as  a  mother.  And  she  allows  the  nobler  part 
of  her  nature  to  perish  slowly  within  her,  there  being  no  call  for 
its  exercise,  no  opportunity  for  its  revelation  ;  resolutely  stifling 
the  voices  of  her  heart  and  conscience,  to  find  in  a  sort  of 
sleepy  animalism,  if  not  felicity,  at  least  peace.  She  has,  it  is 
true,  the  comfort  of  children,  and  her  husband  plays  with  them, 
and  caresses  them  in  her  presence ;  but  it  is  a  comfort  embit- 
tered by  the  thought  that  perhaps  an  hour  ago  he  has  caressed 
the  children  of  another ;  that  an  hour  thence  he  may  be  caress- 
ing those  of  a  third,  and  perhaps  within  the  year  a  fourth.  The 
love  of  the  lover,  the  affection  of  the  father,  friendship,  confi- 
dence, all  are  divided  and  subdivided,  and  each  has  its  hour, 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  221 

its  measure,  and  its  appropriate  ceremony ;  so  every  thing  is 
cold  and  insufficient. 

The  conditions  of  conjugal  life  vary  however  greatly,  accord- 
ing to  the  pecuniary  means  of  the  husband,  even  without  count- 
ing the  fact  that  one  who  is  not  rich  enough  to  maintain  more 
than  one  woman,  is  obliged  to  have  one  wife  only.  The  rich 
noble  lives  separated  in  body  and  mind  from  his  wife,  because 
he  is  able  to  keep  an  apartment  or  even  a  house  for  her  sole 
use,  and  because  wishing  to  receive  friends,  clients,  flatterers, 
without  his  wives  being  seen  or  disturbed,  he  is  obliged  to  have 
a  separate  residence.  The  middle  class  Turk,  for  reasons  of 
economy,  lives  nearer  to  his  wife,  sees  her  more  frequently,  and 
is  on  more  familiar  terms  with  her.  Lastly,  the  poor  Turk  is 
necessarily  obliged  to  eat,  sleep,  and  pass  most  of  his  time  in 
the  close  company  of  his  wife  and  children.  Riches  divides, 
poverty  unites.  In  the  case  of  the  poor  man,  there  is  not  much 
difference  between  the  Turkish  and  the  Christian  household. 
The  woman  who  can  not  have  a  slave,  does  her  own  work,  and 
labor  enhances  her  importance  and  authority.  It  is  not  rare  to 
see  her  drag  her  lazy  husband  from  the  cafe  or  the  tavern,  and 
drive  him  home  with  blows  from  her  slipper.  They  treat  each 
other  as  equals,  passing  the  evening  together  at  the  door  of 
their  house  ;  in  the  more  distant  quarters,  they  often  go  together 
to  buy  the  family  supplies;  and  husband  and  wife  are  often 
seen  eating  their  luncheon  together  in  a  cemetery  near  the  tomb 
of  some  dead  relation,  with  their  children  about  them,  like  a 
family  of  working  people  in  our  own  country. 

There  are  those  who  say  that  the  women  of  the  East  are 
satisfied  with  polygamy,  and  do  not  understand  the  injustice  of 


222  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

it.  To  believe  this  one  must  be  ignorant  not  only  of  the  East, 
but  of  the  human  soul  itself.  If  it  were  true,  that  would  not 
happen  which  does  happen  •  namely,  that  there  is  scarcely  any 
Turkish  girl  who,  accepting  the  hand  of  a  man,  does  not  make 
it  a  condition  that  he  shall  not  marry  again  during  her  life 
time  ;  there  would  not  be  so  many  wives  returning  to  their 
families,  because  the  husbands  have  failed  in  this  promise  ;  and 
the  Turkish  proverb  would  not  be  in  existence,  which  says  : — a 
house  with  four  women  is  like  a  ship  in  a  tempest.  Even  if 
she  is  adored  by  her  husband,  the  Eastern  woman  can  but  curse 
polygamy,  which  obliges  her  to  live  with  the  sword  of  Damocles 
above  her  head,  having  from  day  to  day  a  rival,  not  hidden  and 
remote  and  always  guilty,  like  the  rival  of  the  European  wife  ; 
but  installed  beside  her,  in  her  own  house,  bearing  her  title, 
claiming  her  rights ;  condemned  perhaps  to  see  her  own  slave 
promoted  to  an  equality  with  herself,  and  giving  birth  to  sons 
having  the  same  rights  as  her  own.  It  is  impossible  that  she 
should  not  feel  the  injustice  of  such  a  law.  She  knows  that 
when  her  husband  introduces  a  rival  into  her  home,  he  is  but 
putting  in  practice  the  right  given  to  him  by  the  law  of  the 
Prophet.  But  in  the  bottom  of  her  soul  she  feels  that  there 
is  a  more  ancient  and  more  sacred  law  which  condemns  his  act 
as  traitorous,  and  an  abuse  of  power  ;  that  the  tie  between  them 
is  undone;  that  her  life  is  ruined,  that  she  has  the  right  of  re- 
bellion. And  even  if  she  does  not  love  her  husband,  she  has  a 
hundred  reasons  to  detest  the  law  ;  her  children's  interests  are 
injured,  her  own  self-respect  is  wounded,  and  she  finds  herself 
in  the  fatal  necessity  of  complete  abandonment,  or  of  living  as . 
a  mere  chattel  for  her  husband's  use.     It  may  be  said  that  the 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  22$ 

Turkish  woman  knows  that  the  same  things  happen  to  her  Eu- 
ropean sister  ;  true,  but  she  also  knows  that  the  latter  is  under 
no  constraint  of  civil  and  religious  law  to  respect  and  live  in 
amity  with  her  who  poisons  her  life,  and  that  she  has  at  least 
the  consolation  of  being  considered  as  a  victim,  having  besides 
many  ways  of  vindicating  and  alleviating  her  position,  without 
her  husband  being  able  to  say,  like  the  Turk  : — I  have  the  right 
to  love  a  hundred  women,  but  it  is  your  duty  to  love  me  only. 

It  is  true  that  the  Turkish  woman  has  many  legal  guaran- 
tees, and  many  privileges  conceded  to  her  by  custom.  She  is 
generally  treated  with  certain  forms  of  knightly  courtesy.  No 
man  would  dare  to  lift  his  hand  against  a  woman  in  the  public 
street  (as  in  England).  No  soldier,  even  in  times  of  popular 
tumult  and  sedition,  would  run  the  risk  of  maltreating  the  most 
insolent  woman  of  the  people.  The  husband  treats  his  wife 
with  ceremonious  courtesy.  The  mother  is  the  object  of  pecu- 
liar deference.  No  man  would  think  for  a  moment  of  living  on 
his  wife's  earnings.  The  husband  at  his  marriage  assigns  a 
dowry  to  his  bride  ;  she  brings  nothing  to  his  house  but  her 
wardrobe  and  a  few  female  slaves.  In  case  of  repudiation  or 
divorce,  the  man  is  obliged  to  give  the  woman  enough  to  live 
upon ;  and  this  obligation  saves  her  from  maltreatment  for 
which  she  might  seek  and  obtain  a  separation.  The  facility  of 
divorce  remedies  in  part  the  sad  consequences  of  matrimony 
blindly  contracted  under  the  constitution  of  Turkish  society 
where  the  sexes  live  entirely  separated.  Very  little  cause  is 
needed  for  a  woman  to  obtain  her  divorce  ;  that  the  husband 
has  ill-treated  her  once,  that  he  has  spoken  ill  of  her  to  others, 
that  he  has  been  unfaithful  for  a  certain  time.     She  has  only  to 


224  CONS  TA  N  TIN OP Z  E. 

present  her  written  statement  of  grievances  to  the  tribunal  ;  or, 
she  can,  when  opportunity  occurs,  go  in  person  before  a  vizier, 
the  grand  vizier  himself,  by  whom  she  is  received  and  listened 
to  kindly  and  without  delay.  If  she  cannot  agree  with  the 
other  wives,  the  husband  is  bound  to  give  her  a  separate  apart- 
ment; and  even  if  she  does  agree,  she  has  a  right  to  a  separate 
apartment.  The  man  cannot  marry  or  take  for  an  odalisque 
any  one  of  the  slave  women  whom  the  wife  has  brought  into  the 
house.  A  woman  seduced  and  abandoned  can  oblige  her  se- 
ducer to  marry  her  if  he  has  not  already  four  wives ;  and  if  he 
has  four,  he  must  receive  her  as  an  odalisque  and  her  children 
must  be  recognized ;  which  is  the  reason  why  among  the  Turks 
there  are  no  bastards.  Old  bachelors  are  rare,  old  maids  very 
rare;  forced  marriages  less  frequent  than  might  be  supposed, 
since  the  law  punishes  the  father  who  is  guilty  of  coercion.  The 
State  pensions  widows  without  relations  and  without  means, 
and  provides  for  the  orphans ;  many  female  children  left  with- 
out protection  are  taken  by  rich  ladies  who  educate  and  marry 
them  ;  it  is  very  unusual  for  a  woman  to  fall  into  misery.  All 
this  is  true,  and  very  good ;  but  it  does  not  prevent  us  from 
smiling  when  the  Turks  pretend  that  the  social  condition  of 
their  women  is  better  than  that  of  ours,  and  that  their  society 
enjoys  an  immunity  from  the  corruption  of  which  European 
manners  are  accused. 

From  all  this  one  may  easily  gather  what  sort  of  a  being  the 
Turkish  woman  is  likely  to  be.  The  greater  part  of  them  are 
only  pleasing  feminine  creatures.  Many  know  how  to  read  and 
write,  and  practice  neither  the  one  nor  the  other ;  and  those 
who   have  a  superficial  culture  are  miraculous  beings.     The 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  22  5 

men,  according  to  whom  women  should  have  "  long  hair  and 
short  intelligence,"  do  not  care  to  have  them  cultivate  their 
minds,  and  prefer  that  they  should  remain  inferior  to  them- 
selves. Thus,  having  no  instruction  from  books,  and  receiving 
none  from  conversation,  they  are  grossly  ignorant.  From  the 
separation  of  the  two  sexes  comes  the  absence  of  gentle  man- 
ners in  the  one  sex,  and  of  dignity  in  the  other ;  the  men  are 
coarse,  and  the  women  vacant.  Having  no  society  beyond 
their  own  small  circle  of  women,  they  all  retain  even  in  old  age 
something  puerile  and  trifling  in  their  ideas  and  manners  ;  a 
wild  curiosity  about  every  thing,  a  habit  of  being  astonished  on 
the  smallest  occasion,  an  immense  fussiness  over  nonsense  of 
any  sort,  small  backbitings,  sudden  spites  and  tempers,  screams 
of  laughter  at  the  slightest  cause,  and  a  fondness  for.  the  most 
childish  games,  such  as  chasing  each  other  from  room  to  room 
and  snatching  bonbons  from  each  other's  mouth.  It  is  true 
that  they  have,  to  turn  the  French  saying  the  other  way,  the 
good  qualities  of  their  defects  ;  and  that  their  nature  is  trans- 
parent and  plain,  to  be  seen  through  at  the  first  glance ;  real 
persons,  as  Madame  de  Sevigne  says,  not  masks,  nor  caricatures, 
nor  monkeys ;  open  and  all  of  a  piece  even  in  their  sadness  ; 
and  if  it  be  true  that  it  is  only  necessary  for  one  of  them  to 
swear  to  a  thing  in  order  that  no  one  shall  believe  her,  it  only 
shows  that  they  are  not  artful  enough  to  be  deceitful.  But  it  is 
also  true  that  in  that  narrow  life,  deprived  of  all  mental  or 
spiritual  recreation,  in  which  the  instinctive  desire  of  youth  and 
beauty  for  praise  and  admiration  remains  forever  ungratified, 
their  souls  become  embittered  and  exasperated  ;  and  having  no 
education  to  control  and  guide  them,  when  some  ugly  passion. 
10* 


226  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

moves  them,  they  rush  into  excess.  Idleness  foments  in  them 
a  thousand  senseless  caprices,  which  they  pursue  obstinately, 
and  will  have  gratified  at  any  price.  Besides,  in  the  sensual 
atmosphere  of  the  harem,  in  the  constant  company  of  women 
inferior  to  themselves  in  birth  and  position,  with  no  man  to  act 
as  a  controlling  force,  they  acquire  an  extraordinary  crudity  of 
speech,  they  know  no  delicacies  of  language,  they  say  things 
without  a  veil,  liking  best  the  word  that  might  raise  a  blush,  the 
shameless  jest,  or  plebeian  equivoque ;  and  are  often  most 
foul-mouthed,  indecent  and  insolent.  A  European  who  under- 
stands the  Turkish  language  may  sometimes  hear  a  hamim  of 
distinguished  appearance,  abusing  some  indiscreet  or  careless 
shopkeeper  in  language  that  in  his  own  country  could  not  be 
heard  except  among  women  of  the  lowest  and  most  abandoned 
class. 

Many  have  described  the  Turkish  woman  as  all  sweetness, 
softness  and  submission.  But  there  are  among  them  some  of  a 
fierce  and  haughty  spirit,  not  to- say  ferocious.  Even  there  in 
times  of  popular  tumult,  the  women  are  to  be  seen  in  the  front 
rank ;  they  arm  themselves,  crowd  together,  stop  the  carriages 
of  the  offending  viziers,  cover  them  with  abuse,  throw  stones  at 
them,  and  resist  armed  force.  They  are  kind  and  gentle,  like 
most  women,  when  no  passion  gnaws  or  excites  them.  They 
treat  their  slaves  well  enough,  if  they  are  not  jealous  of  them  ; 
they  show  tenderness  for  their  children,  although  they  do  not 
know  how,  or  do  not  care  to  educate  them  ;  they  contract  with 
one  another,  especially  those  who  are  separated  from  their  hus- 
bands, or  afflicted  with  a  common  sorrow,  the  most  tender 
friendships,  full  of  girlish  enthusiasm,  and  show  their  reciprocal 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  22J 

affection  by  wearing  the  same  color,  or  the  same  fashion  of  gar- 
ment, and  using  the  same  perfumes.  And  here  I  might  add, 
what  has  been  written  by  more  than  one  European  lady  travel- 
ler, "  that  there  are  among  them  all  the  vices  of  Babylon ;" 
but  I  am  unwilling  in  so  grave  a  question,  to  affirm  anything 
upon  the  faith  of  another. 

As  is  their  nature,  so  are  their  manners.  The  greater  part  of 
them  are  like  those  young  girls  of  good  family,  but  brought  up 
it)  the  country,  who,  no  longer  children  but  not  yet  women,  are 
constantly  committing  in  company  a  hundred  amiable  absurdi- 
ties, causing  their  mammas  to  frown  and  shake  their  heads  every 
moment.  To  hear  a  European  lady  relate  her  experience  while 
paying  a  visit  in  a  harem,  is  truly  comic.  The  hanum  for 
instance,  who  at  first  will  be  seated  on  the  sofa  in  the  same  dec- 
orous attitude  as  her  visitor,  suddenly  throws  her  arms  over  her 
head  and  emits  a  loud  yawn,  or  seizes  one  of  her  knees  between 
her  hands.  Accustomed  to  the  liberty  or  rather  license,  of  the 
harem,  to  the  attitudes  of  idleness  and  ennui,  and  weakened  by 
much  warm  bathing,  she  tires  immediately  of  any  upright  posi- 
tion. She  throws  herself  down  on  her  divan,  turning  and  twist- 
ing about,  and  getting  her  long  garments  into  an  inextricable 
entanglement;  she  leans  on  her  elbows,  she  takes  her  feet  in 
her  hands,  she  puts  a  cushion  on  her  knees  and  her  elbows  in 
the  cushion,  she  stretches  out  her  limbs  and  draws  them  up  in  a 
heap,  she  puts  up  her  back  like  a  cat,  rolls  from  the  divan  upon  the 
carpet,  and  from  the  carpet  to  the  marble  floor,  and  sleeps  when 
she  is  sleepy  wherever  she  finds  herself,  like  a  baby.  A  French 
traveller  has  said  that  she  has  a  good  deal  of  the  mollusk  in  her 
composition.     Their  least  relaxed  position  is  that  of  sitting  with 


228  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

crossed  legs,  and  from  this  habit  probably  comes  the  fact  that 
their  legs  are  slightly  bowed.  But  with  what  grace  they  sit ! 
They  sink  to  the*  ground  without  using  their  hands  to  support 
them,  and  remain  like  statues,  motionless,  (all  this  may  be  seen 
in  the  gardens  and  cemeteries)  and  rise,  all  of  a  piece,  as  if 
set  on  springs.  The  grace  of  the  Turkish  woman  is  in  repose, 
and  in  the  art  of  displaying  the  soft  lines  and  curves  of  the  re- 
clining form,  with  head  thrown  back,  hair  flowing,  and  helpless 
arms — the  art  of  extracting  gold  and  gems  from  her  husband  and 
of  driving  her  eunuchs  wild. 

There  are  two  other  kinds  of  harems  besides  the  pacific  and 
the  stormy  ;  the  harem  of  the  young  Turk  without  prejudices, 
who  encourages  his  wife  in  her  European  tendencies,  and  that 
of  the  conservative,  either  by  his  own  convictions,  or  dominated 
by  his  relations,  in  general  by  some  inflexible  old  Mussulman 
mother,  who  governs  the  house  as  suits  herself.  In  the  first 
there  is  a  pianoforte,  and  a  Christian  lady  as  teacher ;  there  are 
work  tables,  straw  chairs,  a  mahogany  bedstead,  and  a  writing 
desk  ;  on  the  wall  hangs  a  fine  portrait  of  the  effendi,  done  by 
an  Italian  artist  of  Pera ;  in  a  corner  a  book-shelf  with  a  few 
books,  among  them  a  small  French  and  Turkish  dictionary,  and 
the  illustrated  Journal  des  Modes  which  the  lady  receives  from 
the  wife  of  the  Spanish  Consul.  She  also  paints  fruit  and  flow- 
ers in  water  colors  with  much  enthusiasm.  She  assures  her 
friends  that  she  is  never  lonely  or  ennuyee.  Between  one  em- 
ployment and  another  she  writes  her  memoirs.  At  a  certain 
hour  she  receives  her  French  teacher,  (an  old,  crooked-backed 
man,  of  course)  with  whom  she  practices  conversation.  Some- 
times a  German  photographer  from  Galata  comes  to  take  her 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  22g 

portrait.  When  she  is  ill,  she  is  visited  by  a  European  physi- 
cian, who  may  even  be  a  handsome  young  man,  the  husband 
not  being  stupidly  jealous,  like  his  antiquated  friends.  And 
once  in  a  while  comes  a  French  dressmaker,  who  takes  her 
measure  for  a  costume  modelled  on  the  very  last  fashion  plate, 
with  which  madame  intends  to  surprise  her  husband  on  Thurs- 
day evening,  the  sacred  evening  in  Mussulman  houses,  when 
the  husband  is  expected  to  pay  his  debts  of  gallantry  towards 
his  "rose  leaf."  And  the  effendi,  who  is  a  man  of  high  aspira- 
tions, has  promised  her  that  she  shall  certainly  have  a  glimpse, 
through  some  half  open  door,  of  the  next  grand  ball  that  is 
given  by  the  English  Ambassador.  In  short,  the  hanum  is  a 
European  lady  of  the  Mohammedan  religion,  and  she  tells  her 
friends  complacently  that  she  lives  like  a  cocona — like  a  Chris- 
tian ;  her  friends,  as  far  as  they  can,  following  her  example. 
But  in  the  other  harem  all  is  rigorously  Turkish,  from  the  attire 
of  the  ladies  down  to  the  minutest  household  detail.  The 
Koran  is  the  only  book,  the  "  Stamboul  '•'  the  only  journal 
allowed.  If  the  hanum  be  ill,  one  of  the  numerous  Turkish 
female  doctors  is  called,  having  a  miraculous  specific  for 
every  known  malady.  All  the  openings  in  the  house  are 
well  grated  and  bolted,  and  nothing  European,"  except  the  air, 
can  enter  j  unless  the  lady  has  had  the  misfortune  to  learn 
French  in  her  childhood ;  in  which  case  her  sister-in-law  brings 
her  French  romances  of  the  worst  type,  telling  her  at  the  same 
time  : — "  See,  what  kind  of  society  this  is  which  you  are  aping ! 
What  fine  doings  !     What  admirable  examples  !" 

And  yet  the  life  of  the  Turkish  woman  is  full  of  accidents, 
worries,   and  small  gossip  and  tale-bearing,   that  at  the  first 


230  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

aspect  do  not  seem  possible  in  a  society  where  the  two  sexes 
are  so  divided.  In  one  harem,  for  instance,  there  is  the  old 
mother  who  wishes  to  drive  one  of  the  wives  out  to  make  room 
for  a  favorite  of  her  own,  and  tries  in  every  way  to  influence 
her  son  against  her  and  her  children.  In  another  it  is  the  wife 
who  is  jealous  of  a  rival  in  her  husband's  affections,  and  moves 
heaven  and  earth  to  get  a  handsome  slave  woman  and  put  her 
in  his  way,  in  order  that  in  this  way  she  may  detach  him  from 
the  other.  Another  wife,  who  has  a  natural  leaning  towards  match 
making,  racks  her  brains  to  bring  about  a  marriage  between 
some  male  relative  of  her  own  and  some  young  girl  of  her 
household,  thus  circumventing  her  husband  who  has  had  his 
eyes  turned  in  the  same  direction.  Here  it  is  a  number  of 
ladies  subscribing  to  a  fund  wherewith  to  buy  a  handsome 
slave  woman,  and  present  her  to  the  Sultan,  or  the  Grand 
Vizier ;  there,  another  group  of  ladies,  highly  placed,  are  busy 
pulling  a  hundred  secret  wires,  whereby  some  powerful  enemy 
is  to  be  pulled  down,  some  friend  saved,  some  importunate  per- 
son sent  into  a  distant  province.  And  although  there  is  less 
social  communion  than  among  us,  there  is  just  as  much  gossip 
about  other  people's  affairs.  The  fame  of  a  woman  of  high 
spirit,  or  of  a  specially  evil  tongue,  or  of  ferocious  jealousy,  is 
spread  far  beyond  the  circle  of  her  acquaintance.  There  also, 
pointed  speeches  and  fine  play  upon  words,  to  which  the  Turk- 
ish language  readily  lends  itself,  are  passed  from  mouth  to 
mouth  and  from  circle  to  circle.  Births,  circumcisions,  mar- 
riages, all  the  small  events  that  happen  in  the  European  colony 
and  in  the  Seraglio  are  subjects  of  endless  discussion.  "  Have 
you  seen  the  new  bonnet  of  the  French  ambassadress  ?     Who 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  23  I 

knows  about  the  handsome  Georgian  slave  that  the  Sultana 
Valide  is  going  to  present  to  the  Sultan  on  the  day  of  the  great 
Beiram  ?  Is  it  true  that  Ahmed-Pasha's  wife  was  seen  yester- 
day in  a  pair  of  European  boots  trimmed  with  silk  tassels  ? 
Have  the  costumes  for  the  Bourgeois  Gentilhomme  at  the  Serag- 
lio Theatre  yet  arrived  from  Paris  ?  It  is  a  week  since  Mah- 
moud  Effendi's  wife  began  to  pray  for  the  grace  of  twins  in  the 
mosque  of  Bajazet.  There  has  been  a  scandal  at  the  photo- 
grapher so  and  so's  at  Pera,  because  Ahmed  Effendi  found  his 
wife's  portrait  there.  Madame  Ayesha  drinks  wine.  Madame 
Fatima  has  got  visiting  cards.  Madame  Hafiten  has  been  seen 
to  go  into  a  Frankish  shop  at  three  and  come  out  at  four. "  And 
so  on,  ad  infinitum. 

It  would  be  singularly  diverting  if  there  existed  among  the 
Turks,  as  among  us,  those  living  gazettes  of  the  fashionable 
world  who  know  everybody  and  everybody's  history  ;  it  would 
be  both  amusing  and  instructive  to  plant  oneself  on  a  holiday 
at  the  entrance  to  the  European  Sweet  Waters  in  company  with 
one  of  these,  and  hear  his  comments  upon  the  notabilities  as  they 
pass  by.  That,  he  would  say,  is  a  lady  who  has  lately  broken 
with  her  husband  and  gone  to  live  at  Scutari ;  Scutari  is  the  refuge 
for  all  malcontents  and  quarrelsome  people  ;  she  is  staying  with 
a  friend,  and  will  remain,  until  her  husband,  who  really  cares  for 
her,  comes  and  makes  it  up.  This  effendi  now  going  by  is  a 
clerk  of  the  Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs,  who  has  lately  married 
an  Arab  slave  and  she  is  now  learning  Turkish  from  his  sister. 
This  pretty  woman  is  a  divorced  wife,  who  is  only  waiting  until 
a  certain  effendi  shall  have  gotten  rid  of  one  of  his  four,  to  go 
and  take  the  place  that  was  promised  her.     That  other  dame  is 


232  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

a  lady  who  has  been  twice  divorced  from  the  same  husband,  and 
now  wants  to  marry  him  a  third  time,  he  agreeing  to  do  so  ;  and 
so  she  will  be  married  in  a  day  or  two,  as  the  law  commands, 
to  another  man,  from  whom  she  will  be  divorced  the  following 
day,  after  which  the  lovely  capricious  one  can  celebrate  her 
third  nuptials  with  her  first  spouse.  The  brunette  with  the 
lively  eyes  is  an  Abyssinian  slave  presented  by  a  great  lady  of 
Cairo  to  a  great  lady  of  Stamboul,  who  died,  and  left  her  mis- 
tress of  the  house.  That  effendi  of  fifty  has  had  ten  wives. 
That  little  old  woman  in  green  can  boast  of  having  been  the 
legitimate  wife  of  twelve  husbands.  Here  comes  a  lady  who  is 
making  a  fortune  by  buying  girls  of  fourteen,  having  them 
taught  music,  singing  and  dancing,  and  the  fine  manners  of 
noble  houses,  and  then  selling  them  at  a  profit  of  five  hundred 
per  cent.  Here  is  another,  who  was  first  a  slave,  then  an  oda- 
lisque (or  concubine),  then  wife,  then  divorced,  then  married 
again,  and  now  she  is  a  widow  and  is  looking  out  for  a  good 
marriage.  That  man  is  a  merchant  who  for  business  reasons 
has  married  four  wives  who  live,  one  at  Constantinople,  one  at 
Trebizond,  one  at  Salonica,  and  one  at  Alexandria  in  Egypt, 
by  which  arrangement  he  has  four  different  homes  where  he  may 
repose  from  the  fatigues  of  his  journeys.  That  handsome 
Pasha  of  twenty-four  was  only  a  month  ago  a  poor  subaltern 
officer  of  the  Imperial  Guard,  and  the  Sultan  made  him  a  Pasha 
and  married  him  to  one  of  his  sisters  ;  but  his  Sultana  is  known 
to  be  "  as  jealous  as  a  nightingale,"  and  perhaps,  if  we  were  to 
search  the  crowd,  we  might  discover  a  slave  watching  to  see 
whom  he  looks  at,  and  who  looks  at  him.  See  this  child  of  five 
years  old  !     She  was  this  morning  betrothed  to  a  small  boy  of 


THE    TURKISH   WOMEN.  233 

eight ;  the  gentleman  was  carried  by  his  parents  to  pay  his 
bride  a  visit,  found  her  much  to  his  taste,  and  went  into  a  fury 
because  a  cousin  of  three  feet  high  dared  to  kiss  her  in  his 
presence.  Ah  !  what  have  we  lost !  A  Seraglio  carriage  has 
gone  by,  and  the  Sultan's  third  wife  was  in  it ;  I  recognized  it 
by  the  rose-colored  ribbon  on  the  intendant's  neck  ;  his  third 
wife  presented  to  him  by  the  Pasha  of  Smyrna  ;  she  has  the 
largest  eyes  and  the  smallest  mouth  in  the  world  ;  a  face  some- 
thing like  that  little  hanum  there  with  the  arched  nose,  who 
yesterday  had  a  flirtation  with  an  English  artist  of  my  acquaint- 
ance. The  little  wretch  !  and  to  think  that  when  the  angels 
Nekir  and  Mukir  come  to  judge  her  soul,  she  will  try  to  get  off 
with  the  usual  lie  ;  saying  that  she  had  her  eyes  shut  and  did 
not  recognize  the  infidel ! 

But  then  there  are  unfaithful  Turkish  wives  ?  Without  doubt 
there  are  such  ;  and  this  notwithstanding  the  jealousy  of  their 
lords,  and  the  vigilance  of  their  eunuchs,  notwithstanding  the 
hundred  blows  with  a  whip  with  which  the  Koran  threatens  the 
culprit,  notwithstanding  the  species  of  mutual  assurance  society 
formed  by  Turks  among  themselves.  It  may  be  even  affirmed 
that  the  "  veiled  ones  "  {velate)  of  Constantinople  commit  as 
many  sins  as  the  unveiled  ones  of  other  countries.  If  this  were 
not  so,  Carag/ienz*  would  not  have  so  often  upon  his  lips  the 
word  kerata :  which  being  translated  into  a  classic  name,  means 
Menelaus.  It  must  be  said,  however,  that  women  are  no  longer 
thrown  into  the  Bosphorus  either  with  or  without  a  sack,  and 
that  punishment  and  the  bastinado  are  no  longer  practiced 
even  by  the  most  ferocious  kerata.  The  force  of  ridicule,  as 
(*  The  Turkish  Punch.) 


234  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

well  as  other  European  forces,  has  found  its  way  into  Mussul- 
man society,  and  even  jealousy  is  afraid  of  that.  And  besides, 
Turkish  jealousy  being  more  the  effect  of  self-love  than  affec- 
tion, (and  certainly  it  is  powerful  and  vindictive  enough,)  has 
not  that  indefatigable  and  investigating  eye  that  belongs  to  the 
more  spiritual  passion.  The  Turkish  authorities  do  their  best 
to  prevent  certain  abuses.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  in  the 
orders  given  to  the  police  of  Constantinople  on  holiday  occa- 
sions, the  larger  part  refer  to  the  women,  and  directly  levelled 
at  them  in  the  form  of  advice  and  threats.  It  is  forbidden,  for 
instance,  to  them  to  enter  the  back-shops,  or  rooms  behind  the 
shops ;  they  must  stay  where  they  can  be  seen  from  the  street. 
They  are  not  to  go  in  the  tramways  for  amusement :  or  they 
are  to  get  out  at  the  terminus  and  not  come  back  by  the  same 
way.  They  are  forbidden  to  make  signs,  to  stop  at  this  place, 
to  pass  by  that  place,  to  stay  more  than  a  certain  time  at  a  cer- 
tain spot.  And  then  there  is  that  blessed  veil,  which,  originally 
intended  as  a  safeguard  for  the  woman,  is  now  turned  into  a 
mere  screen  for  intrigue  and  coquetry. 

The  bath-houses  are  the  places  where  the  Turkish  women 
meet  to  plot  and  gossip.  The  bath  is  in  a  certain  way  their 
theatre.  They  go  in  couples  and  groups  with  their  slaves,  car- 
rying cushions,  carpets,  articles  for  the  toilet,  sweetmeats,  and 
often  their  dinner,  so  that  they  may  remain  all  day.  There  in 
those  dimly  lighted  halls,  among  marbles  and  fountains,  there 
are  often  gathered  together  more  than  two  hundred  women, 
naked  as  nymphs,  or  only  partially  clothed,  presenting,  accord- 
ing to  the  testimony  of  European  ladies,  a  spectacle  to  make  a 
hundred  painters  drop  their  brushes.     Here  may  be  seen  the 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  235 

snow-white  hanum  beside  the  ebony  black  slave ;  the  matron 
of  opulent  charms  beloved  by  the  Turk  of  antique  taste  ;  slender 
little  brides  with  short,  curling,  childish  locks ;  golden-haired 
Circassians,  and  Turkish  women  with  their  black  tresses  braided 
into  an  infinity  of  little  tails,  like  an  enormous  wig;  one  with 
an  amulet  on  her  neck,  another  with  a  sprig  of  garlic  bound 
round  her  head  as  a  charm  against  the  evil  eye;  half-savages 
with  tattooed  arms,  and  fashionable  dames  whose  bodies  bear 
the  traces  of  the  corset,  and  their  ankles  the  marks  of  French 
boots  :  and  some,  whose  shoulders  show  the  signs  of  the 
eunuch's  whip.  Some  are  stretched  upon  their  mats,  smoking, 
some  are  having  their  hair  combed  by  their  slave  women,  some 
are  embroidering,  others  singing,  chattering,  laughing,  and 
slandering  their  neighbors  in  the  next  group.  A  European 
lady  among  them  is  the  object  of  immense  curiosity  and  a  thou- 
sand idle  questions  : — "  Is  it  true  that  you  go  to  balls  with  your 
shoulders  bare?  and  what  does  your  effendi  think  of  that?  and 
what  do  the  other  men  say  ?  and  how  do  you  dance  ?  That 
way! — really? — well,  I  would  not  have  believed  it  if  I  had  not 
seen  it! " 

They  are  delighted  to  receive  a  European  lady  in  their 
houses,  and  on  such  occasions  they  invite  their  friends,  display 
all  their  slaves  and  their  treasures,  load  the  visitor  with  sweets 
and  fruits,  and  seldom  let  her  go  without  making  her  accept  a 
present.  The  sentiment  that  moves  them  to  these  demonstra- 
tions is  more  curiosity  than  kindness ;  and  as  soon  as  they  are 
familiar  with  their  new  acquaintance,  they  examine  her  costume 
bit  by  bit  from  bonnet  to  boots,  and  are  not  satisfied  until  they 
have  conducted  her  to  the  bath,  where  they  may  see  how  a 


236  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

nazarene  is  made.  They  have  not,  however,  any  more  the  con- 
temptuous dislike  that  they  once  nourished  for  their  European 
sisters.  On  the  contrary,  they  feel  humiliated  in  their  presence 
and  seek  to  imitate  in  every  way  their  dress  and  manners.  If 
they  study  languages,  it  is  in  order  to  introduce  a  word  here 
and  there  to  show  their  knowledge,  but  above  all,  it  is  to  be 
able  to  converse  with  a  Christian,  and  to  be  called  madame  ; 
they  frequent  certain  Frankish  shops  on  purpose  to  be  addressed 
by  that  coveted  title ;  and  Pera  attracts  them  as  a  light  attracts 
moths.  They  seek  to  know  Frankish  women  in  order  to  learn 
from  them  something  of  the  splendors  and  amusements  of  their 
world,  but  it  is  not  only  the  varied  and  feverish  life  of  gayety 
that  attracts  them  •  more  often  it  is  the  domestic  life,  the  little 
world  of  a  European  family,  the  circle  of  friends,  the  table  sur- 
rounded'with  children,  the  honored  and  beloved  old  age;  that 
sanctuary  full  of  memories,  of  confidence,  and  tenderness,  that 
can  make  the  union  of  two  persons  good  even  without  the  pas- 
sion of  love ;  to  which  we  turn  even  after  a  long  life  of  aberra- 
tion and  faults ;  in  which,  even  among  the  tempests  of  youth 
and  the  pangs  of  the  present,  the  heart  finds  refuge  and  com- 
fort, as  a  promise  of  peace  for  later  years,  the  beauty  of  a  serene 
sunset  seen  from  the  depths  of  some  dark  valley. 

But  there  is  one  great  thing  to  be  said  for  the  comfort  of 
those  who  lament  the  fate  of  the  Turkish  woman  ;  it  is  that 
polygamy  is  declining  from  day  to  day.  It  has  always  been 
considered  by  the  Turks  themselves  rather  as  a  tolerated  abuse 
than  as  a  natural  right  of  man.  Mahomet  said  : — That  man  is 
to  be  praised  who  has  but  one  single  wife, — although  he  him- 
self had  several ;  and  those  who  wish  to  set  an  example  of  hon- 


THE    TURKISH    WOMEN.  2$? 

est  and  austere  manners  never  in  fact  marry  but  one  wife.  He 
who  has  more  than  one  is  not  openly  blamed,  but  neither  is  he 
approved.  The  Turks  are  few  who  sustain  polygamy,  and  still 
fewer  those  who  approve  it  in  their  hearts.  All  those  who  are 
in  a  social  position  which  imposes  a  certain  respectability" and 
dignity  of  life  have  but  one  wife.  The  higher  officers  of  the 
ministry,  those  of  the  army,  magistrates,  and  men  of  religion  all 
have  but  one.  Four-fifths  of  the  Turks  of  Constantinople  are 
against  polygamy.  The  fact  is  here  :  that  the  transformation 
of  Turkish  society  is  not  possible  without  the  redemption  of  the 
woman,  that  this  is  not  practicable  without  the  fall  of  polygamy, 
and  that  polygamy  must  fall.  It  is  probable  that  no  voice  would 
be  raised  if  a  decree  of  the  Sultan  were  to  suppress  it  to-morrow. 
The  edifice  is  rotten  and  must  fall.  The  new  dawn  already 
tinges  the  terraces  of  the  harem  with  rose.  Hope,  O  lovely 
hanums  !  The  doors  of  the  selamlik  will  be  opened,  the  grates 
will  fall,  the  feredje  will  go  to  decorate  the  museum  of  the  Grand 
Bazaar,  the  eunuch  will  become  a  mere  black  memory  of  child- 
hood, and  you  shall  freely  display  to  the  world  the  graces  of  your 
visages  and  the  treasures  of  your  minds  ;  and  then,  when  "  the 
pearls  of  the  Orient  "  are  spoken  of  in  Europe,  to  you,  O  white  ha- 
nums, will  be  the  allusion !  to  you,  beautiful  Mussulmans,  gentle, 
witty  and  cultured  ;  not  to  the  useless  pearls  that  encircle  your 
foreheads  in  the  midst  of  the  cold  pomp  of  the  harem.  Cour- 
age !  then,  for  the  sun  is  rising.  As  for  me — and  this  I  say  for  my 
incredulous  friends,  I  have  not  yet  renounced  the  hope  of  giving 
my  arm  to  the  wife  of  a  Pasha  in  the  streets  of  Turin,  and  of 
conducting  her  for  a  walk  on  the  banks  of  the  Po,  reciting  to 
her  meanwhile  a  chapter  from  the  Promessi  Sposi. 


238  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


YANGHEN   VAR. 

I  was  dreaming  about  this  very  walk  towards  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  in  my  chamber  at  the  Hotel  of  Byzantium,  and 
between  sleeping  and  waking,  beholding  from  afar  the  hill  of 
Superga,  was  beginning  to  repeat  to  my  travelling  hanum : 
"That  branch  of  the  lake  of  Como  which  turns  towards  the 
south  between  two  uninterrupted  chains — "  when  there  ap- 
peared before  me,  clothed  in  white,  and  bearing  a  candle  in  his 
hand,  the  figure  of  my  friend  Yanck,  who  demanded  of  me  in 
great  amazement: — "What  is  going  on  in  Constantinople  to- 
night?" Listening,  I  could  hear  a  confused  and  hollow  sound 
proceeding  from  the  street,  a  noise  of  footsteps  on  the  stairs, 
a  murmur,  and  a  hurry,  like  that  which  prevails  in  the  day. 
From  my  window  I  could  discern  a  crowd  of  people  hurrying 
towards  the  Golden  Horn.  Going  out  on  the  landing,  I  seized 
a  Greek  waiter  who  was  in  the  act  of  rushing  precipitately 
down  the  stairs,  and  demanded  what  was  happening.  He  tore 
himself  from  my  grasp,  exclaiming  : — "  Yanghen  Var,  per  Diol 
don't  you  hear  the  cry  ?"  and  then  vanishing  he  called  back, 
"Look  at  the  top  of  the  Tower  of  Galata."  I  returned  to  my 
window,  and  looking  towards  Galata  saw  all  the  upper  portion 
of  the  Tower  illuminated  by  a  vivid  crimson  light,  and  a  great 
black  cloud  rising  from  the  neighboring  houses  spreading  rap- 
idly over  the  starry  sky,  and  carrying  in  its  bosom  a  whirl  of 
sparks. 


YANGHEN    VAR.  239 

Suddenly  came  the  thought  of  the  formidable  conflagrations 
of  Constantinople,  and  especially  that  awful  one  of  four  years 
ago  ;  and  our  first  sentiment  was  one  of  terror  and  compassion. 
But  immediately  after  came — I  blush  to  confess  it — one  more 
cruel  and  egotistical — the  curiosity  of  the  painter  and  the  de- 
scribe^ and — this  also  I  confess — we  exchanged  a  smile  that 
Dort  might  have  caught  and  fixed  upon  the  face  of  one  of  his 
Dantesque  demons. 

In  furious  haste  we  dressed  and  descended  into  the  main 
street  of  Pera.  But  our  curiosity,  unfortunately  for  us,  was  de- 
lusive. We  had  not  reached  the  tower  of  Galata  when  the  fire 
was  out.  Two  small  houses  were  still  burning  a  little  ;  people 
were  beginning  to  go  home  ;  the  streets  were  running  with 
water  from  the  engines,  and  encumbered  with  furniture  and  bed- 
ding, amid  which  in  the  grey  light  of  morning,  men  and  women, 
in  shirt  and  chemise,  were  coming  and  going,  shivering  with 
cold,  and  screaming  in  discordant  voices,  and  a  dozen  different 
languages,  their  terror  at  the  peril  past.  Seeing  that  all  was 
over,  we  went  towards  the  bridge  to  console  ourselves,  for  our 
disappointment,  with  the  sunrise. 

The  sky  had  scarcely  begun  to  grow  light  beyond  the  hills 
of  Asia.  Stamboul,  but  a  little  before  alarmed  at  the  first  an- 
nouncement of  the  fire,  had  already  sunk  again  into  silence  and 
repose.  The  shores  and  bridge  were  deserted  ;  the  Golden 
Horn  slept,  covered  with  a  light  mist  and  immersed  in  profound 
silence.  No  boat  moved,  no  bird  flew,  no  tree  murmured,  no 
breath  disturbed  the  stillness.  The  interminable  azure  city, 
mute  and  veiled,  seemed  painted  on  the  air,  and  looked  as  if  it 
would  vanish  at  a  word.     Constantinople  had  never  appeared 


240  CONSTANTIXOPLE. 

to  us  in  that  airy  and  mysterious  aspect;  never  before  had  so 
vivid  an  image  been  presented  to  us  of  the  fabulous  city  of  Ori- 
ental story,  which  the  pilgrim  sees  rise  suddenly  before  him,  and 
in  which  he  finds  a  motionless,  petrified  people  in  all  the  infi- 
nite attitudes  of  gay  and  busy  life,  turned  to  stone  by  the  ven- 
geance of  the  king  of  the  genii.  We  leaned  upon  the  railing  of 
the  bridge,  contemplating  the  marvellous  scene,  and  forgetting 
the  fire,  when  from  beyond  the  Golden  Horn  came  first  a  faint 
confused  sound,  like  the  voice  of  a  person  in  distress,  and  then 
a  burst  of  cries,  shrill  and  piercing : — Allah  !  Allah  !  Allah  ! — 
which  resounded  suddenly  in  the  immense  and  silent  void  of 
the  roadstead,  and  at  the  same  moment  there  appeared  upon 
the  opposite  shore  a  crowd  of  yelling  and  sinis.ter-looking  peo- 
ple who  rushed  upon  the  bridge. 

"  Tulumbadgi  /"  Firemen — cried  one  of  the  watchmen  on  the 
bridge. 

We  drew  on  one  side.  A  horde  of  half-naked  savages,  with 
bare  heads,  and  hairy  breasts,  reeking  with  sweat,  old  and  young, 
blacks,  dwarfs,  and  hirsute  giants,  with  such  faces  as  we  are 
wont  to  assign  to  assassins  and  thieves,  four  of  whom  bore 
upon  their  shoulders  a  small  engine  or  pump,  that  looked  like  a 
child's  bier  ;  armed  with  long  hooked  poles,  coils  of  rope,  axes, 
and  picks,  they  passed  before  us,  shrieking  and  yelling,  with 
dilated  eyes,  flying  hair,  and  trailing  rags,  pressing  together, 
impetuous  and  grim,  and  exhaling  an  odor  as  of  wild  beasts,  dis- 
appearing into  the  street  of  Galata,  whence  came  to  our  ears 
their  last  faint  cry  of  Allah  !  and  then  the  deep  silence  fell 
again. 

But  only  for  a  moment ;  for  presently  it  was  again  broken, 


YAXGHEV    VAR.  24I 

and  a  similar  crowd  passed  by,  and  a  third,  and  a  fourth,  and 
again  and  again  the  prolonged  and  lamentable  cry  of  "  Allah  !" 
floated  back  from  the  street  of  Pera,  followed  by  a  mortal 
silence.  Finally,  last  of  all  came  the  madman  of  Pera,  naked 
from  head  to  heel,  shivering  in  the  cold,  and  uttering  piercing 
yells,  followed  by  a  number  of  Turkish  boys  who  vanished  with 
him  and  the  firemen  among  the  houses  of  the  Frankish  shore  ; 
and  over  the  great  city,  gilded  by  the  first  rays  of  the  sun,  de- 
scended and  reigned  once  more  that  noble  silence.  In  a  little 
while  the  sun  rose,  the  muezzins  were  heard  from  the  minarets, 
caiques  darted  here  and  there,  the  port  awoke,  people  began 
to  pass  over  the  bridge,  the  low  murmur  of  life  arose  in  the 
streets  of  the  town,  and  we  returned  to  Pera.  But  the  image 
of  that  great  sleeping  city,  of  that  faintly  irradiated  horizon,  of 
that  solemn  peacefulness,  and  of  those  savage  hordes,  remains 
so  deeply  stamped  upon  my  memory,  that  to  this  day  it  rises 
before  me,  veiled  in  a  mist  of  fear  and  astonishment,  like  a 
vision  of  Stamboul  in  past  centuries,  seen  in  an  opium  dream. 

So  I  did  not  see  the  spectacle  of  conflagration  at  Constan- 
tinople ;  but  if  I  did  not  see  it  with  my  eyes,  I  knew  so  many 
witnesses  of  that  which  destroyed  Pera  in  1870,  that  I  may  say 
I  saw  it  through  their  eyes,  and  may  describe  it  almost  as  if  I 
had  been  a  spectator. 

The  first  flame  broke  out  in  a  small  house  in  the  street  of 
Feridie  in  Pera,  on  the  fifth  of  June,  at  a  time  when  most  of  the 
well  to  do  population  are  out  of  town  ;  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  when  almost  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  are  tak- 
ing their  siesta.  There  was  no  one  in  the  house  but  an  old  ser- 
vant woman,  who  as  soon  as  she  saw  the  flame  rushed  out  into 
zi 


242  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

the  street  screaming,  "  Fire !  Fire !  "  The  people  in  the 
neighboring  houses  ran  at  once  with  buckets  and  small  pumps 
— the  stupid  law  prohibiting  the  extinction  of  a  fire  before  the 
arrival  of  the  officials  from  the  Seraskiarat  having  fallen  into 
disuse — and  all  rushed  to  the  nearest  fountain  for  water.  The 
fountains  of  Pera,  from  which  the  water-carriers  at  stated  hours 
supply  the  people  of  each  quarter,  were  at  this  hour  closed,  and 
the  official  who  has  the  keys  may  not  use  them  without  permis- 
sion of  the  authorities.  At  that  very  moment,  a  Turkish  guard 
of  the  municipality  of  Pera  had  the  keys  in  his  pocket,  and 
stood  near  the  fountain,  an  impressive  spectator  of  the  scene. 
The  excited  crowd  surrounded  him  and  summoned  him  to 
open.  He  refused  to  do  so  without  the  necessary  authority. 
They  pressed  about  him,  threatened  him,  seized  him  ;  he  strug- 
gled and  resisted,  declaring  that  they  should  take  the  keys  only 
from  his  dead  body.  Meantime  the  flames  were  spreading  and 
had  already  attacked  the  neighboring  houses.  The  news  of  the 
conflagration  spread  from  quarter  to  quarter.  From  the  sum- 
mit of  the  Tower  of  Galata  were  displayed  the  crimson  ceste* 
which  intimated  that  a  fire  was  in  progress  in  the  city.  The 
city  guards  ran  about  the  streets,  beating  their  long  staves  upon 
the  stones  and  calling  out  the  sinister  cry : —  Yanghen  var! — 
Fire  is  here !  answered  by  the  rapid  roll  of  drums  from  the  bar- 
racks. The  cannon  from  Top-hane  announced  the  danger  by 
three  tremendous  explosions.  The  Seraskiarat,  the  Seraglio, 
the  Embassies,  all  Pera  and  all  Galata  are  upside  down  ;  and 
in  a  few  minutes,  hotly  spurring,  the  minister  of  war,  with  a 
cloud  of  officers  and  an  army  of  firemen,  arrives  in  the  street 
*  The  translator  is  at  a  loss  for  this  word.     The  dictionary  gives  baskets. 


YANGHEN    VAR.  243 

of  Feridie,  and  hastily  begin  their  work.  But  as  usual  in  such 
cases,  the  first  attempts  are  futile.  The  narrow  street  prevents 
free  movement,  the  engines  are  useless,  the  water  too  far  off 
and  insufficient ;  the  firemen,  ill  disciplined,  are  more  intent 
upon  fishing  in  the  troubled  waters  on  their  own  account,  than  on 
doing  their  duty;  and  as  it  happens  that  an  Armenian  holiday 
is  going  on  at  Beicos,  there  are  very  few  porters  to  transport  the 
goods.  Also  there  were  then  more  wooden  houses  than  there 
are  now,  and  the  stone  and  brick  houses  had  inflammable  roofs. 
The  population  of  the  quarter  was  almost  entirely  Christian, 
and  therefore  lost  their  heads  at  once,  whereas  the  Mussulmans 
on  such  occasions  being  fatalists,  if  they  do  not  aid,  at  least  stand 
quietly  by  and  do  not  impede  the  efforts  of  others.  An  hour 
had  scarcely  passed  from  the  first  alarm,  when  the  whole  street 
was  in  flames,  and  the  officials  and  firemen  were  everywhere 
retreating,  leaving  some  dead  and  wounded  on  the  field.  A 
great  wind  blew  that  day  and  beat  down  the  flames  in  great 
horizontal  waves,  like  curtains,  enveloping  the  houses  from  the 
roofs  downwards.  Families  secure  in  the  belief  that  they  had 
ample  time  to  save  their  property,  heard  the  roof  crackle  over 
them,  and  escaped  only  with  their  lives.  The  fire  did  not  run, 
but  flew,  and  overwhelmed  its  prey  like  a  sea.  In  three  hours 
one-half  of  Pera  was  in  flames.  The  streets  of  the  burning 
quarters  were  warring  furnaces  over  which  the  fire  made  a  sort 
of  tent,  whilst  the  glazed  balconies  of  the  houses  and  the 
wooden  minarets  of  the  smaller  mosques  melted  before  it  and 
disappeared  like  unsubstantial  things. 

By  the  still  accessible  streets,  lancers  on  horseback  passed 
in  hot  haste,  like  spectres  illuminated  by  infernal  fires,  carrying 


244  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

orders  from  the  Seraskiarat.  Officers  from  the  Seraglio,  with 
uncovered  heads  and  scorched  uniforms,  riderless  horses,  troops 
of  porters  laden  with  goods,  hordes  of  howling  dogs,  weeping 
people  flying  before  the  flames,  appeared  and  disappeared 
among  the  smoke  and  flame  like  legions  of  lost  spirits.  For 
one  instant,  at  the  entrance  of  a  burning  street,  motionless  upon 
his  horse,  and  pale  as  a  corpse,  was  seen  the  Sultan  Abdul- 
Aziz,  surrounded  by  his  escort,  and  with  dilated  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  flames  as  if  like  Selim  First  he  were  muttering  to  himself — 
"  I  feel  the  burning  breath  of  my  victims  !  It  is  destroying  my 
city,  my  Seraglio,  and  myself!  " — And  still  the  flames  advanced 
victoriously  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  restrain  them ;  driving  be- 
fore them  firemen,  soldiers,  and  citizens.  Nor  were  there  want- 
ing in  that  horrible  confusion,  splendid  acts  of  courage  and  hu- 
manity. The  white  veils  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity  were  seen 
every  where  among  the  ruins,  bending  above  the  wounded  and 
dying  j  Turks  rushed  into  the  flames,  and  brought  out  Christian 
children  ;  another  Mussulman  standing  with  folded  arms  in  the 
midst  of  a  group  of  despairing  people,  offered  calmly  large 
sums  of  money  to  any  who  would  save  a  Christian  boy  in  one 
of  the  burning  houses;  some  went  about  in  groups  picking  up 
lost  children  ;  others  opened  their  houses  to  the  fugitives  ;  and 
more  than  one  gave  an  example  of  courage  and  scorn  of  worldly 
goods  ;  remaining  seated  on  a  mat  in  the  street  tranquilly  smok- 
ing, while  their  property  blazed  before  them  ;  retreating  slowly 
and  with  supreme  indifference  as  the  fire  advanced. 

And  but  a  short  distance  from  this  hell,  the  serene  majesty 
of  Stamboul  and  the  spring  loveliness  of  the  Asiatic  shore 
looked  smiling  on,  while  an  immense  crowd  that  blackened  all 


YANGHEN    VAR.  245 

the  shore, gazed  mute  and  impassible  at  the  frightful  spectacle; 
the  muezzins  announced  in  slow  musical  chant  the  close  of  day  ; 
birds  circled  round  and  round  the  mosques  of  the  seven  hills, 
and  old  Turks  seated  under  the  plane  trees  on  the  green  heights 
of  Scutari,  murmured  submissively : — "  The  last  day  of  the  city 
of  the  Sultans  has  come  !  The  sentence  of  Allah  is  fulfilled  ! 
Amen  !  Amen  !" 

The  conflagration  fortunately  was  not  protracted  into  the 
night.  At  seven  o'clock  the  English  Embassy  took  fire,  after 
which  the  wind  went  down,  and  the  flames  died  out  on  every 
side  as  suddenly  as  they  had  mounted.  In  six  hours  two-thirds 
of  Pera  had  been  destroyed  to  their  foundations,  nine  thousand 
houses  reduced  to  ashes,  and  two  thousand  persons  killed. 

In  former  times  when  a  fire  broke  out  at  Constantinople,  if 
the  Sultan  was  in  his  harem  at  the  time,  the  news  of  the  dan- 
ger was  brought  to  him  by  an  odalisque  all  dressed  in  crimson 
from  head  to  heel,  who  had  orders  to  present  herself  before 
him  wherever  he  might  be.  She  had  only  to  appear  in  the 
door  ;  the  color  of  her  garments  conveyed  the  mute  announce- 
ment of  misfortune.  Among  the' many  grand  and  terrible  ima- 
ges which  rise  before  me  at  the  thought  of  the  burning  of  Con- 
stantinople, the  figure  of  this  odalisque  is  always  the  most  promi- 
nent. I  shall  never  cease  to  entreat  all  painters  to  paint  the 
picture  as  I  see  it,  until  I  can  find  one  who  falls  in  love  with  it, 
and  to  him  I  shall  be  forever  grateful.  He  will  represent  a 
room  in  the  Imperial  harem,  hung  with  satin,  and  softly  lighted, 
where  upon  a  large  divan,  beside  a  blonde  Circassian  girl,  is 
seated  Selim  the  First,  the  great  Sultan.  Tearing  himself  from 
the  arms  of  his  love,  he  fixes  his  eyes  full  of  wrath  and  dismay 


246  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

upon  the  crimson  odalisque,  who,  mute,  sinister  and  rigid,  upon 
the  threshold,  with  pallid,  statuesque  face,  filled  with  dread  and 
veneration,  seems  to  say  : — "  King  of  kings  !  Allah  calls  thee, 
and  thy  desolate  people  await  thee  !"  and  beyond  the  lifted  cur- 
tains of  the  door  can  be  seen,  in  the  blue  distance,  the  flaming 
city. 


THE   WALLS.  247 


THE  WALLS. 

The  circuit  of  the  walls  of  Stamboul  I  chose  to  make  alone, 
and  I  should  advise  Italians,  and  others  going  to  Constantino- 
ple, to  imitate  me,  because  the  spectacle  of  those  grand  lonely 
ruins  will  not  leave  a  profound  and  enduring  impression  except 
upon  the  mind  that  is  ready  to  receive  it,  and  freely  follows  the 
course  of  its  own  meditations  in  silence.  It  is  a  walk  of  about 
fifteen  Italian  miles,  through  deserted  streets  or  roads,  under  the 
rays  of  the  sun. — "  Perhaps  "  I  said  to  my  friend — "  the  sadness 
of  my  solitude  may  overwhelm  me  on  the  way,  and  I  may  in- 
voke you  as  a  Saint  ;  but  any  way,  I  want  to  go  alone." 

I  reduced  the  contents  of  my  pocket  to  a  minimum  in  case 
that  any  suburban  thief  should  take  a  fancy  to  examine  them, 
swallowed  a  morsel  of  food,  and  began  my  journey  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  under  a  sky  washed  clear  by  a  shower  in 
the  night,  proceeding  towards  the  bridge  of  the  Sultana  Valide. 

My  purpose  was  to  leave  Stamboul  by  the  gate  of  the 
Blacherne  quarter,  to  follow  the  line  of  the  walls  from  the  Golden 
Horn  as  far  as  the  Castle  of  the  Seven  Towers,  and  to  return 
along  the  shore  of  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  thus  going  round  the 
whole  great  triangle  of  the  Mussulman  city. 

Turning  to  the  right  after  crossing  the  bridge,  I  found  myself 
in  the  vast  quarter  called  Istambul-di-sciare,  or  external  Stam- 
boul, which  is  a  long  strip  of  city  between  the  wall  and  the  port, 


248  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

made  up  of  small  houses  and  stores  for  oil  and  wood,  which 
have  been  more  than  once  destroyed  by  fire.  The  walls  re- 
maining on  this  side  of  the  city  are  about  five  times  the  height 
of  a  man,  battlemented  and  flanked  at  every  hundred  paces  by 
small  quadrangular  towers,  and  falling  into  ruin ;  but  this  is  the 
noteworthy  part  of  the  walls  of  Stamboul,  both  from  an  artistic 
and  historic  point  of  view.  Crossing  the  quarter  of  the  Fanar, 
and  passing  by  the  shore  thronged  with  fruit  and  pastry  venders, 
sellers  of  anise  and  rosolio,  and  open  air  kitchens,  in  the  midst 
of  handsome  Greek  sailors  looking  like  the  statues  of  their  an- 
cient gods,  I  skirted  the  vast  ghetto  of  Balata;  threaded  the 
silent  quarter  of  the  Blacherne,  and  finally  came  out  of  the  city 
by  the  gate  called  Egri-Kapj,  not  far  from  the  shore  of  the 
Golden  Horn. 

All  this  is  quickly  told,  but  it  took  me  one  hour  and  a  half 
to  do,  and  was  accomplished  with  no  other  guides  than  the 
points  of  the  minarets  of  the  mosque  of  Selim.  At  a  certain 
point  I  saw  no  more  Turkish  faces  or  dresses  ;  then  European 
houses  disappeared,  then  pavements,  then  the  shop  signs,  then 
the  names  of  the  streets,  and  finally  all  sound  of  labor.  As  I 
went  on,  the  dogs  looked  at  me  more  and  more  suspiciously. 
Turkish  boys  stared  with  bolder  eyes,  women  of  the  people  drew 
their  veils  closer,  and  I  finally  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  Asi- 
atic barbarism,  after  a  walk  of  two  hours  that  seemed  a  journey 
of  two  days. 

Turning  to  the  left  of  Egri-Kapu  I  came  upon  a  large  tract 
of  that  famous  wall  that  defends  Stamboul  on  the  land  side.  The 
line  of  walls  and  enormous  towers  extends  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
see,  rising  and  descending  with  the  inequalities  of  the  ground  : 


THE    WALLS.  249 

here  so  low  that  it  seems  sinking  into  the  earth,  and  there  so 
lofty  that  it  appears  to  crown  the  summit  of  a  mountain  ;  varied 
by  infinite  forms  of  ruin,  tinted  with  many  deep  and  sombre 
colors,  from  black  to  warm,  almost  golden  yellow,  and  clothed 
by  a  redundant  vegetation  of  dark  green,  that  climbs  about  the 
wall,  falling  in  garlands  from  the  battlements   and  loop-holes, 
rising  in  rich  masses  and  pyramids  of  verdure,  hanging  in  dra- 
peries, rushing  in  cascades,  filling  every  crack  and  fissure,  and 
advancing  even  into  the  road.     There  are  three  ranges  of  walls 
forming  a  gigantic  series  of  ruined  steps ;   the  interior  wall, 
which  is  the  highest,  flanked  at  equal   distances   with  square 
towers ;  the  middle  wall  reinforced  by  small  round  towers  ;  and 
the  external  wall  without  towers,  very  low,  and  defended  by  a 
wide  and  deep  ditch  that  was  once  filled  by  the  waters  of  the 
sea,  but  is  now  covered  with  grass  and  weeds.    All  three  remain 
much  in  the  same  condition  that  they  were  in  after  the  taking 
of   Constantinople,  for   the   restorations   that   were   made   by 
Mahomet   and   Bajazet   Second  are  very  unimportant.      The 
breaches  made  by  the  enormous  guns  of  Orbano  may  still  be 
seen,  as  well  as  the  marks  of  rams  and   catapults,  mines,  and 
all  the  indications  of  the  points  where  the  assaults  had  been 
most  furious  and  the  resistance  most  desperate.     The  round 
towers  of  the  middle  wall  are  almost  all  ruined  to  their  founda- 
tions; those  of  the  interior  wall  are  nearly  all  standing,  but  so 
broken  and  riddled  that  they  resemble   enormous  trunks  of 
lightning-struck  trees,  or  great  rocks  that  have  been  washed  by 
the  sea.     Immense  masses  of  masonry  rolling  down  upon  the 
middle  and  outer  wall,  encumber  the  platform  and  the  ditch. 
Footpaths  wind  here  and  there  among  the  fragments  and  the 
11* 

4 


250  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

weeds  and  are  lost  in  the  dark  shadows  of  the  hanging  vegeta- 
tion. Every  bit  of  bastion  framed  between  two  towers  is  a  stu- 
pendous picture  of  verdure  and  ruin,  full  of  majesty  and  grand- 
eur. It  is  all  colossal,  savage,  threatening,  and  impressed  with 
a  mournful  beauty  that  is  very  imposing.  The  Constantinople 
of  to-day  has  vanished,  and  the  city  of  Constantine  is  before 
us ;  we  breathe  the  air  of  the  fifth  century ;  the  thoughts  cluster 
round  the  day  of  that  immense  disaster  and  the  present  is 
forgotten. 

The  gate  by  which  I  came  out,  called  by  the  Turks  Egri- 
Kapu,  was  that  famous  Caligaria  gate  by  which  Justinian  made 
his  triumphal  entry, and  Alexis  Comnenus  came  to  take  posses- 
sion of  the  throne.  In  front  of  it  there  is  now  a  Mussulman 
cemetery.  In  the  first  days  of  the  siege  the  great  cannon  of 
Orbano  was  planted  there,  around  which  labored  four  hundred 
artillerymen,  and  which  one  hundred  oxen  dragged  with  diffi- 
culty. The  gate  was  defended  by  Theodore  di  Caristo  and 
Giovanni  Greant  against  the  left  wing  of  the  Turkish  army,  that 
extended  as  far  as  the  Golden  Horn.  From  this  point  to  the 
Sea  of  Marmora  there  is  not  a  sign  of  habitation.  The  road 
runs  straight  and  solitary  between  the  walls  and  the  open  coun- 
try. I  walked  for  some  distance  between  two  cemeteries,  Chris- 
tian on  the  one  hand,  Mohammedan  on  the  other.  The  sun 
scorched  ;  the  road  stretched  away  before  me  white  and  lonely, 
and  gradually  ascending  cut  the  limpid  sky  with  a  straight  line. 
On  one  side  tower  succeeded  tower,  on  the  other  tomb  gave 
place  to  tomb.  There  was  no  sound  but  my  own  regular  foot- 
fall and  the  murmur  of  winged  insects  among  the  weeds.  At 
length  I  suddenly  found  myself  before  a  fine  square  gate  sur- 


THE    WALLS.  2$  I 

mounted  by  a  lofty  arch  and  flanked  by  two  octagonal  towers. 
It  was  the  gate  of  Adrianople,  the  Polyandria  of  the  Greeks; 
the  same  which  sustained  in  625,  under  Heraclius,  the  formida- 
ble attack  of  the  Avari,  which  was  defended  against  Mahomet 
Second  by  the  brothers  Paul  and  Antonio  Troilo  Bochiardi, 
and  which  then  became  the  gate  for  the  triumphal  exits  and  en- 
trances of  the  Mussulman  army.  There  was  no  living  creature 
near.  Suddenly  two  Turkish  horsemen  galloped  out,  enveloped 
me  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  vanished  on  the  road  to  Adrianople ; 
and  profound  silence  reigned  once  more. 

Turning  my  back  to  the  wall  at  this  point,  I  followed  the 
Adrianople  road,  and  descending  into  the  valley  of  the  Lykus, 
mounted  a  rising  ground  and  looked  out  over  the  vast  and  arid 
plain  of  Dahud-Pasha,  where  Mahomet  Second  had  his  head- 
quarters during  the  siege  of  Constantinople. 

There  once  beat  the  heart  of  all  that  enormous  army  that 
held  in  its  formidable  embrace  the  great  city  in  its  dying  throes. 
From  thence  sped  the  orders  that  moved  the  arms  of  a  hundred 
thousand  laborers,  dragging  over  land  two  hundred  galleys  from 
the  bay  of  Besci-tass  to  the  bay  of  Kassim-Pasha ;  that  sent 
into  the  bowels  of  the  earth  armies  of  Armenian  miners,  and  in 
the  time  that  is  taken  to  count  the  beads  of  a  rosary,  drew  three 
hundred  thousand  bows  and  unsheathed  as  many  scimetars. 
There  the  pale  messengers  of  Constantine  met  the  Genoese 
from  Galata  coming  to  sell  their  oil  for  refreshing  the  cannon 
of  Orbano,  and  the  Mussulman  vedettes  set  to  watch  the  Sea  of 
Marmora,  if  perchance  they  might  see  against  the  horizon  the 
European  fleet  coming  to  bring  succor  to  Christendom  behind 
the  last  rampart  of  the  Constantines.     There  swarmed  the  rene- 


252  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

gade  Christians,  Asiatic  adventurers,  aged  sheiks,  and  meagre 
dervishes  that  thronged  about  the  tents  of  the  fourteen  thousand 
janissaries,  and  mingled  with  the  horses  and  camels,  the  cata- 
pults and  balistas,  fragments  of  exploded  guns  and  heaps  of  stone 
cannon  balls,  while  toil-worn  soldiers  carried  two  and  two  from 
the  walls,  the  deformed  bodies  of  dead  and  wounded,  amid  a  per- 
petual cloud  of  smoke.  In  the  midst  of  the  encampment  of  the 
janissaries  rose  the  many-tinted  tents  of  the  court,  and  above 
these  the  flame-colored  pavilion  of  Mahomet  Second.  Every 
morning  at  sunrise  he  was  there  at  the  entrance  of  his  tent,  pale 
with  his  vigils  of  the  night,  in  his  long  blood-colored  robe,  and 
his  turban  plumed  with  yellow,  and  fixed  his  eagle  glance  upon 
the  doomed  city.  Beside  him  was  Orbano,  the  inventor  of  the 
monster  gun,  which  in  a  few  days  was  to  explode  and  blow  his 
bones  over  the  plain  of  the  Hippodrome.  There  too  was  the 
admiral,  Balta-Ogli,  already  pursued  by  the  presentiment  of  a 
defeat  which  was  to  draw  down  upon  his  head  the  wrath  and  the 
golden  baton  of  the  Grand  Signor  ;  and  all  around  thronged  the 
flower  of  that  Asiatic  multitude,  full  of  youthful  force  and  fero- 
city, ready  to  rush  like  a  river  of  steel  and  flame  upon  the  de- 
crepit remnant  of  the  Byzantine  Empire  ;  and  all,  motionless  as 
statues  in  the  first  rosy  rays  of  dawn,  gazed  at  the  thousand  sil- 
vered domes  of  the  city  promised  by  the  Prophet,  where  at  that 
hour  the  prayers  and  sobs  of  the  coward  people  were  rising  in 
vain  to  heaven.  I  saw  them  all,  their  attitudes,  the  folds  of 
their  strange  garments,  and  the  long  shadows  they  cast  over 
the  earth.  Suddenly  my  eyes  fell  upon  a  large  stone  at  my  feet 
whereon  I  read  a  half  effaced  inscription,  and  the  fantastic  vis- 
ion vanished,  only  to  give  place  to  another.     The  plain  swarmed 


THE    WALLS.  253 

with  a  lively  multitude  of  French  soldiers  in  their  red  trousers ; 
I  heard  the  songs  of  Provence  and  Normandy  ;  I  saw  Marshals 
St.  Arnaud,  Canrobert,  Espinasse,  Pelissier  ;  I  recognized  faces 
and  voices  dear  to  my  remembrance, — and  read  once  more  with 
pleasure  and  surprise,  the  poor  inscription  : — "Eugene  Saccard, 
Corporal  in  the  2  2d  Light  Horse,  jfune  16,  1854." 

From  thence  I  returned  to  the  road  that  skirts  the  walls,  and 
passing  the  ancient  military  gate  of  Pempti,  now  walled  up,  I 
crossed  the  river  Lykus  which  enters  the  city  at  that  point,  and 
arrived  finally  before  the  cannon  gate,  against  which  Mahomet's 
army  made  their  final  assault.  H.ere  behind  the  battlements  I 
saw  horrible  black  faces  peering  down  at  me  with  an  amazed 
expression,  which  faces  turned  out  to  belong  to  a  tribe  of  gyp- 
sies who  had  there  made  a  nest  among  the  ruins.  The  traces 
of  the  tremendous  struggle  are  here  very  marked,  colossal  frag- 
ments of  the  masonry  lying  here  and  there  like  the  relics  of  a 
fallen  mountain.  The  battle  might  have  been  fought  yesterday, 
and  the  ruins  have  a  more  than  human  voice  to  tell  of  the  hor- 
rible slaughter  that  they  witnessed.  And  all  the  gates  could 
tell  the  same  tale.  The  struggle  began  at  dawn  of  day.  The 
Ottoman  army  was  divided  into  four  columns,  and  preceded  by 
an  advanced  guard  of  a  hundred  thousand  volunteers,  predes- 
tined to  death.  All  this  food  for  cannon — this  wild,  undisci- 
plined crowd  of  Tartars,  Arabs,  Caucasians  and  negroes,  led  by 
sheiks,  excited  by  dervishes,  and  driven  onward  by  the  whips 
of  an  army  of  sciaiis,  rushed  first  to  the  assault,  laden  with  earth 
and  fascines,  and  forming  one  unbroken  chain  from  the  Sea  of 
Marmora  to  the  Golden  Horn.  Arrived  upon  the  edge  of  the 
ditch  or  moat,  a  hail  storm  of  stone  and  iron  arrested  and  mowed 


254  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

them  down  ;  but  other  hordes  succeeded  them,  driven  on  by 
others  still  behind  them  ;  in  a  little  while  the  moat  was  filled 
with  a  bloody  writhing  mass,  over  which  the  army  rushed  in  a 
torrent,  beating  its  wild  waves  against  the  walls  and  towers, 
until  the  savage  blare  of  the  Ottoman  trumpets  was  heard  above 
the  din  of  battle,  and  the  advanced  guard  retreated  in  confusion 
all  along  the  line.  Then  Mahomet  Second  let  loose  his  strength. 
Three  great  armies,  three  human  torrents,  led  by  a  hundred 
Pashas,  with  a  deafening  noise  of  trumpets  and  cymbals,  and  a 
shout  of  La  Ilah  ilia  lah  I  precipitated  themselves  against  the 
walls,  as  the  ocean  in  a  storm  breaks  upon  a  rocky  coast. 
From  time  to  time,  as  the  battle  raged  around  the  gates,  in  the 
breaches,  in  the  moat,  on  the  platforms,  or  when  for  a  moment 
the  hideous  tumult  relaxed  as  if  to  take  breath,  the  purple  man- 
tle of  Constantine  could  be  seen  waving,  or  a  bright  gleam  shot 
from  the  armor  of  Justinian,  or  Francis  of  Toledo,  and  the  ter- 
rible figures  of  the  three  hundred  Genoese  archers  appeared 
confusedly  through  the  smoke. 

At  last  the  assailants,  thinned  and  weakened,  began  to 
retreat  and  scatter,  and  a  shout  of  victory,  and  a  solemn  chant 
of  thanksgiving  arose  from  the  walls.  From  the  heights  before 
San  Romano,  Mahomet  Second,  surrounded  by  his  janissaries, 
saw  and  for  one  instant  hesitated.  But  throwing  a  glance  around 
at  his  formidable  soldiers,  who  trembled  with  impatient  ire  as 
they  watched  his  face,  he  rose  in  his  stirrups,  and  once  more 
shouted  his  battle-cry.  Then  was  the  vengeance  of  God  un- 
chained. The  janissaries  answered  with  fourteen  thousand 
shouts  in  one  ;  the  columns  moved  ;  a  throng  of  dervishes 
spread  themselves  throughout  the  camp  to  re-animate  the  cour- 


THE    WALLS.  255 

age  of  the  men,  the  sciaus  stopped  the  fugitives,  the  Pashas  re- 
formed their  lines,  the  Sultan  himself  brandishing  his  iron  mace 
advanced  amid  a  splendor  of  scimetars  and  bows,  and  a  sea  of 
casques  and  turbans  ;  Justinian,  wounded,  vanished  from  the 
walls  ;  the  Genoese,  disheartened,  retreated  ;  the  gigantic  jan- 
issary Hassan  d'Olubad  was  the  first  to  scale  the  rampart ; 
Constantine,  desperately  fighting  in  the  midst  of  the  last  of  his 
brave  Moreans,  is  thrown  from  the  battlements,  but  continues 
to  fight  under  the  gate,  to  the  last  moment ;  the  Empire  of  the 
East  has  fallen.  Tradition  says  that  a  great  tree  marks  the 
spot  where  Constantine's  body  was  found ;  but  there  is  no 
longer  any  trace  of  it.  There,  where  the  earth  was  once  dyed 
deep  in  blood,  grew  a  thick  carpet  of  daisies  and  wild  flowers 
and  a  cloud  of  butterflies  hovered.  I  gathered  a  blossom  for 
remembrance,  under  the  astonished  eyes  of  the  gypsies,  and 
went  on  my  way. 

The  walls  still  extended  before  me  as  far  as  eye  could  see. 
At  their  highest  parts  they  hid  the  city  completely,  so  that  no 
one  could  imagine  that  behind  those  solitary  and  silent  bastions 
lay  a  vast  metropolis,  inhabited  by  many  people.  Where  they, 
were  lower,  on  the  contrary,  appeared  the  silvery  tops  of  mina- 
rets and  domes,  roofs  of  Greek  churches,  and  the  topmost 
boughs  of  trees.  Here  and  there  through  an  opening  in  the 
curtain  of  the  wall,  a  fugitive  glimpse  of  the  city  with  its  houses 
anfl  gardens,  or  the  more  distant  and  fantastic  outlines  of  Stam- 
boul,  seemed  as  though  a  door  had  been  suddenly  opened  and 
shut  again.  At  this  point  the  walls  are  in  better  preservation. 
There  are  long  portions  of  the  curtain  of  Theodosius  Second 
almost  intact ;  beautiful  towers  of  the  Emperor  Ciro  Conslan- 


256  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

tine,  which  still  bear  gloriously  upon  their  invulnerable  heads 
their  crowns  of  fifteen  centuries,  and  seem  to  defy  a  new  assault. 
At  some  places,  on  the  platforms,  peasants  have  built  their  huts, 
which  in  their  smallness  and  fragility  give  new  force  10  the  ma- 
jestic solidity  of  the  walls,  and  look  like  birds'  nests  on  the 
flanks  of  a  mountain. 

The  gate  called  Yeni-Mewlehane,  where  I  next  arrived,  is 
so  named  from  a  famous  convent  of  dervishes  near  it :  it  is  a 
low  gate  in  which  are  set  four  marble  columns,  and  at  its  sides 
are  two  square  towers,  with  an  inscription  of  Ciro  Constantine 
447,  and  one  of  Justinian  Second  and  Sophia,  in  which  the  im- 
perial names  are  misspelled  ;  a  curious  instance  of  the  barbaric 
ignorance  of  the  fifth  century.  There  was  no  living  soul  either 
in  the  gateway,  or  the  wall,  or  about  the  convent,  or  in  the 
cemetery. 

I  would  give  the  remembrance  of  the  finest  view  in  Con- 
stantinople, if  I  could  convey  to  the  reader  an  idea  of  the  deep 
and  singular  emotions  that  I  experienced  as  I  thus  walked  on 
between  two  endless  chains  of  ruins  and  of  sepulchres,  in  that 
awful  solitude,  that  brooding  peace.  Many  times  in  my  life,  in 
melancholy  mood,  I  have  imagined  myself  one  of  a  caravan  of 
mute  and  mysterious  beings  eternally  going  onward,  through  an 
unknown  country,  towards  an  unknown  end.  This  road  seemed 
the  reality  of  my  dream.  I  could  have  gone  on  forever.  It 
did  not.make  me  sad,  but  rather  inspired  me  with  serenity  and 
courage.  The  vigorous  colors  of  the  vegetation,  the  cyclnpian 
masses  of  the  walls,  the  long  waving  lines  of  open  country,  like 
a  stormy  ocean,  the  solemn  memories  of  emperors  and  armies, 
of  titanic  struggles,  scattered  peoples,  defunct  generations,  be- 


THE    WALLS.  257 

side  that  enormous  city,  in  that  mortal  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  beat  of  the  eagle's  wing  as  he  clove  the  air  above  me,  all 
conspired  to  excite  my  imagination  and  redouble  my  sense  of 
life. 

The  next  gate  is  the  ancient  military  one  of  Trite,  now  closed. 
Its  curtains  and  towers  show  traces  of  heavy  artillery,  and  it  is 
believed  that  here  was  one  of  the  three  breaches  which  Mahom- 
et Second  pointed  out  to  his  army  before  the  assault,  saying: — 
"You  can  enter  Constantinople  on  horseback  by  the  three 
breaches  which  I  have  opened."  Next  comes  an  open  gate, 
flanked  by  two  octagon  towers,  and  recognizable  by  its  small 
bridge  of  three  arches  of  a  fine  gold  color  as  the  Selivri  gate, 
from  which  ran  the  high  road  to  the  city  of  Selybmria  (sic)  a 
name  changed  by  the  Turks  to  Selivri.  During  the  siege  this 
gate  was  defended  by  the  Genoese  captain,  Maurice  Cattaneo. 
The  road  still  retains  some  traces  of  the  pavement  laid  down  by 
Justinian.  In  front  there  is  a  vast  cemetery  and  the  noted 
monastery  of  Baluklu. 

In  the  cemetery  I  came  upon  the  solitary  spot  where  are 
buried  the  head  of  the  famous  Pasha  of  Janina,  Ali  of  Tepelen  ; 
those  of  his  sons,  Veli,  governor  of  Tirhala ;  Muctar,  command- 
ant of  Arlonia  ;  Saalih,  commandant  of  Lepanto ;  and  that  of  his 
nephew  Mehemet,  son  of  Veli,  commandant  of  Delvina, '  There 
are  five  small  columns  surmounted  by  turbans,  all  bearing  the 
date  of  827,  and  a  simple  inscription,  written  by  the  poor  der- 
vish Soliman,  Ali's  friend  from  childhood,  who  bought  the  heads 
after  they  had  been  exposed  on  the  battlements  of  the  Seraglio, 
and  buried  them  with  his  own  hands.  The  inscription  on  the 
cippus  of  Ali,  runs  thus  : — "  Here  lies  the  head  of  the  famous 


258  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Ali  Pasha  of  Tepelen,  governor  of  Janina,  who  for  more  than 
fifty  years  labored  for  the  independence  of  Albania."  Which 
proves  that  even  on  Mussulman  tombstones  pious  falsehoods 
may  be  found.  I  stopped  a  moment  to  contemplate  the  hand- 
ful of  earth  that  covered  that  formidable  head,  and  Hamlet's 
words  to  Yorick's  skull  came  into  my  mind.  Where  are  thy 
Paiikari  now,  Lion  of  Epirus  ?  Where  are  thy  brave  arnauts, 
and  thy  palaces  bristling  with  cannon,  and  thy  beautiful  kiosks 
reflected  in  th.e  waters  of  the  lake  of  Janina,  and  thy  treasures 
buried  in  the  rock,  and  the  lovely  eyes  of  thy  Vasiliki  ?  And  I 
was  thinking  of  the  poor  lady  wandering  through  the  streets  of 
Constantinople,  desolate  with  a  remembrance  of  her  lost  happi- 
ness and  fallen  greatness,  when  I  heard  a  slight  rustle  behind 
me,  and  turning  beheld  a  tall  angular  figure,  dressed  in  a  long 
dark  gown,  with  uncovered  head,  who  was  looking  at  me  with  a 
questioning  air.  From  a  sign  that  he  made  I  comprehended 
that  he  was  a  monk  of  Baluklu  who  wished  to  show  me  the  mi- 
raculous fountain,  and  I  followed  him  towards  his  monastery. 

He  conducted  me  across  a  silent  courtyard,  opened  a  small 
door,  lighted  a  taper,  made  me  descend  with  him  a  flight  of 
steps  into  a  damp  dark  cellar,  and  there  halted  before  a  kind 
of  cistern,  where  shading  the  light  with  his  hand,  he  pointed  out 
to  me  the  red  fish  darting  through  the  water.  As  I  looked,  he 
mumbled  some  incomprehensible  jargon  which  I  suppose  was 
the  story  of  the  famous  miracle  of  the  fish.  While  the  Mussul- 
mans were  making  their  last  assault  upon  the  walls  of  Constan- 
tinople, a  Greek  monk  in  this  convent  was  frying  fish.  Sud- 
denly at  the  door  of  the  kitchen  appeared  another  monk,  in  a 
high  state  of  excitement,  who  called  out : — "  The  city  is  taken  !  " 


THE    WALLS.  2$g 

"Cfte/"  replied  the  one  at  the  frying-pan,  "I  will  believe  that 
when  I  see  my  fish  jump  out  of  the  pan."  And  immediately 
the  fish  jumped  out,  all  alive,  half  brown  and  half  red  because 
they  were  only  cooked  on  one  side ;  and  they  were  religiously 
replaced  in  the  cistern,  as  may  be  supposed,  and  there  they  may 
be  seen  to  this  day.  His  mumbling  over,  my  monk  threw  a  few 
drops  of  the  sacred  water  into  my  face,  whence  they  trickled 
into  his  hand  in  the  shape  of  small  coin,  and  accompanying  me 
to  the  door,  stood  for  a  moment  looking  after  me,  with  his  little 
sleepy,  tired-looking  eyes. 

And  still  on  one  side  walls  upon  walls  and  towers  upon 
towers,  and  on  the  other  shady  cemeteries,  green  fields  and 
vineyards,  a  closed  house  or  two,  and  beyond,  the  desert.  The 
vegetation  is  here  marvellous.  Great  leafy  trees  start  from 
the  towers  as  from  gigantic  vases  ;  red  and  yellow  blossoms  and 
garlands  of  ivy  and  honeysuckle  hang  from  the  battlements,  and 
below  grows  an  inextricable  tangle  of  weeds  and  wild  shrubs, 
from  the  midst  of  which  spring  plane  trees  and  willows  shading 
the  moat  and  the  road.  Large  tracts  of  wall  are  completely 
covered  with  ivy,  holding  the  stones  together  like  a  vast  net, 
and  hiding  their  wounds  and  fissures.  The  moat  is  here  and 
there  laid  out  in  kitchen  gardens,  and  on  the  edges  goats  and 
sheep  are  feeding  guarded  by  Greek  boys  lying  in  the  shade  of 
the  trees ;  flocks  of  birds  nest  in  the  walls ;  the  air  is  full  of  the 
pungent  fragrance  of  wild  herbs  j  and  a  sort  of  spring-like  joy- 
ousness  seems  to  breathe  from  the  ruins,  that  look  as  if  they 
were  decorated  with  flowers  and  garlands  for  the  passage  of  a 
Sultana.  Suddenly  I  felt  upon  my  face  a  puff  of  salt  air,  and 
raising  my  eyes  beheld  the  Sea  of  Marmora  lying  blue  before  me. 


260  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Passing  by  the  ancient  gate  of  Deleutera,  and  that  of 
Melandesia,  I  found  myself  in  front  of  the  Castle  of  the  Seven 
Towers. 

This  edifice  of  evil  fame,  raised  by  Mahomet  Second  upon 
the  antique  Cyclobion  of  the  Greeks,  to  defend  the  city  at  the 
point  where  the  land  wall  joins  the  sea  wall,  was  converted  into 
a  state  prison,  as  soon  as  the  conquests  of  the  Sultan  had  as- 
sured Stamboul  against  the  dangers  of  a  siege.  It  is  now  noth- 
ing but  a  skeleton  of  a  castle,  guarded  by  a  few  soldiers  ;  an 
accursed  ruin,  full  of  painful  and  horrible  memories,  that  live  in 
sinister  legend  on  the  lips  of  the  people  of  Constantinople,  and 
is  seldom  seen  by  travellers  except  for  a  moment  from  the  prow 
of  the  vessel  that  carries  them  to  the  Golden  Horn.  The 
Turks  call  it  Jedi-Kule,  and  it  is  for  them  what  the  Bastile  was 
to  the  French,  and  the  Tower  of  London  to  the  English  ;  a 
monument  recalling  the  worst  epochs  of  the  tyranny  of  the 
Sultans. 

The  walls  of  the  city  hide  it  from  the  eyes  of  those  who  look 
at  it  from  the  road,  excepting  two  of  the  seven  great  towers  that 
gave  it  its  name,  of  which  there  are  now  only  four  entire.  In 
the  external  walls  there  are  still  remaining  two  Corinthian  col- 
umns which  belonged  to  the  ancient  gilded  gate  by  which  Her- 
aclius  and  Narsetes  made  their  triumphal  entry,  and  according 
to  a  legend  common  to  both  Mussulmans  and  Greeks,  it  is  also 
the  same  by  which  the  Christians  passed  when  they  re-entered 
the  city  of  Constantine  victorious.  The  entrance  door  is  in  a 
small  square  tower,  where  a  slippered  sentinel  dozes,  who  gen- 
erally permits  the  entrance  of  a  coin  into  his  pocket,  and  a  trav- 
eller into  the  tower  at  one  and  the  same  moment. 


THE    WALLS.  26 1 

Entering,  I  found  myself  alone  in  a  large  enclosure,  having 
a  gloomy  look  of  prison  and  cemetery  that  made  me  stay  my 
steps.  All  around  rose  enormous  black  walls  forming  a  penta- 
gon, crowned  with  square  and  round  towers,  some  high,  some 
low,  some  dislocated,  others  entire  and  covered  with  conical 
roofs  of  lead,  and  with  innumerable  ruined  stairs  that  led  to  bat- 
tlements and  loop-holes.  Within  the  enclosure  the  vegetation 
is  high  >and  thick,  dominated  by  a  group  of  cypress  and  plane 
trees,  and  the  minarets  of  a  small  mosque  ;  lower  down  the 
roofs  of  a  cluster  of  huts  where  the  soldiers  sleep  ;  in  the  middle 
the  tomb  of  a  vizier  who  was  strangled  in  the  castle  ;  here  and 
there  the  remains  of  an  ancient  redoubt ;  and  among  the  weeds 
or  along  the  walls,  fragments  of  bas-reliefs,  pieces  of  columns 
and  capitals  sunk  in  the  ground,  and  half  covered  with  grass  and 
pools  of  water ;  a  strange  and  gloomy  disorder,  full  of  mystery 
and  menace,  most  repugnant  to  the  sight.  I  advanced  with 
circumspection,  as  if  fearing  to  put  my  foot  in  a  pool  of  blood. 
The  cabins  were  tenantless,  the  mosque  shut  up,  everything 
quiet  and  solitary,  as  in  an  abandoned  ruin.  On  the  walls  there 
are  still  here  and  there  traces  of  Greek  crosses,  fragments  of 
monograms  of  Constantine,  the  spread  wings  of  the  Roman 
eagles,  and  the  remains  of  friezes  of  the  antique  Byzantine 
edifice.  Upon  some  stones  may  be  seen  Greek  sentences 
rudely  cut  in  minute  characters  ;  almost  all  inscribed  by  the 
soldiers  of  Constantine,  who  guarded  this  fortress  under  the 
command  of  the  Florentine  Giuliani,  on  the  day  before  the  fall 
of  Constantinople  ;  poor  souls  resigned  to  death,  invoking  God 
to  save  their  city  from  the  sack  and  their  families  from  slavery. 

Of  the  two  towers  behind  the  Gilded  Gate,  one  is  that  in 


262  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

which  the  ambassadors  from  states  that  were  at  war  with  the 
Sultan  were  shut  up,  and  there  are  Latin  inscriptions  on  the 
walls,  the  most  recent  one  being  that  of  the  Venetian  Ambassa- 
dors imprisoned  there  in  the  reign  of  Ahmed  Third,  when  the 
war  in  the  Morea  broke  out.  The  other  is  the  famous  tower  to 
which  all  the  most  dismal  traditions  of  ihe  castle  are  referred  ; 
a  labyrinth  of  horrible  dungeons,  living  sepulchres,  where  vi- 
ziers and  great  ones  of  the  court  waited,  praying  in  the  darkness, 
for  the  coming  of  the  executioner,  or  driven  mad  by  despair, 
dashed  out  their  brains  against  the  walls.  In  one  of  these  dun- 
geons was  the  great  mortar  in  which  the  bones  and  flesh  of  the 
ulemas  were  pounded.  On  the  ground  floor  is  a  large  round 
chamber,  called  the  bloody  prison,  where  the  condemned  were 
secretly  decapitated,  and  their  heads  thrown  into  a  well,  called 
the  well  of  blood,  the  mouth  of  which  may  still  be  seen  in  the 
rude  pavement,  covered  by  a  stone  slab.  Beneath  this  was  the 
so-called  rocky  cavern,  lighted  by  a  lantern  hanging  from  the 
roof,  where  those  condemned  to  be  tortured  had  their  flesh 
peeled  off  in  strips,  where  burning  pitch  was  poured  into  the 
wounds  made  by  the  whip,  and  feet  and  hands  were  struck  off, 
the  horrid  shrieks  of  those  in  agony  reaching  the  ears  of  the 
prisoners  above,  in  faint  lamenting  tones.  In  one  corner  of  the 
inner  court  may  still  be  seen  the  traces  of  a  smaller  enclosure, 
where  the  heads  of  the  condemned  commonalty  were  struck  off 
in  the  night ;  and  near  by,  not  very  long  ago,  there  existed  a 
mass  of  human  bones  that  rose  nearly  as  high  as  the  castle 
platform.  Near  the  entrance  is  the  prison  of  Othman  Second, 
the  first  imperial  victim  of  the  janissaries.  In  all  the  other 
towers,  and  in  the  thickness  of  the  walls  there  is  a  net-work  of 


THE    WALLS.  263 

dark  corridors,  secret  stairways,  and  low  doors  studded  with 
iron,  under  whose  frowning  archways  how  many  of  the  great 
ones  of  the  earth,  in  the  flower  of  their  youth,  and  the  fullness 
of  their  power,  have  passed  never  more  to  return  !  One  feels  a 
vivid  sense  of  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  this  den  of  infamy  and 
cruelty  now  so  deformed  and  ruined.  The  disarmed  and  de- 
crepit monster  gapes  with  the  hundred  mouths  of  its  loop- 
holes and  low  door-ways,  reduced  to  a  mere  scare-crow,  and 
myriads  of  toads,  rats,  and  scorpions  swarm  in  its  empty  dun- 
geons, or  rustle  among  the  insolent  vegetation  that  wreaths  and 
plumes  its  hideousness  as  if  in  mockery.  After  having  looked 
in  at  various  doors  without  seeing  anything  but  a  precipitous 
flight  of  rats  and  mice,  I  mounted  by  an  old  mossy  flight  of  steps 
to  the  top  of  the  western  wall.  From  thence  I  looked  down 
upon  the  castle  in  all  its  ruin  and  decay,  a  disorderly  black  and 
dark  red  mass  of  stones,  set  in  a  ring  of  vivid  green.  As  I 
stood  there  in  the  deep  silence  and  the  brooding  light,  dream- 
ing of  the  horrors  that  had  been  perpetrated  in  that  accursed 
place,  the  muezzin  raised  his  clear  penetrating  voice  from  the 
minaret  of  the  little  mosque.  That  slow,  sweet,  solemn  voice, 
calling  upon  God,  at  that  moment,  in  that  fearful  place,  spoke 
to  the  very  depths  of  my  soul !  It  seemed  to  me  to  be  saying 
in  the  names  of  all  those  who  had  there  been  doomed  to  death, 
that  their  suffering  had  not  been  in  vain,  that  their  last  tears 
had  been  gathered  up,  that  their  tortures  had  been  recompensed, 
that  they  forgave  as  they  had  been  forgiven,  that  God  remains 
when  the  world  abandons  us,  and  that  all  is  vanity  on  this 
earth  except  this  sentiment  of  infinite  love  and  compassion.  I 
went  out  of  the  castle  much  moved. 


264  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Resuming  my  march  towards  the  sea  along  the  outer  wall, 
I  came  to  the  railway  station  of  Adrianople,  where  various  lines 
meet  and  cross  one  another.  There  were  long  files  of  dusty 
carriages,  but  no  living  being  that  I  could  see.  Had  I  been  a 
fanatical  Turk,  now,  enemy  to  all  European  innovations,  I  might 
have  set  fire  to  the  place  and  its  contents,  and  have  departed 
unmolested.  I  walked  on  expecting  every  moment  to  hear  the 
threatening  shout  of  some  watchful  guardian,  but  no  one  accosted 
me.  I  had  imagined  that  I  could  enter  Stamboul  a  little  further 
on  where  the  wall  ends,  but  was  deluded.  The  sea  wall  and 
the  land  wall  met,  and  there  was  not  the  ghost  of  a  gate.  So  I 
was  obliged  to  return  to  the  gate  of  the  Seven  Towers,  and  tra- 
verse the  whole  of  Stamboul  along  the  shore  of  the  Sea  of  Mar- 
mora. Quite  worn  out  with  fatigue,  my  heart  bounded  with 
pleasure,  when  after  a  weary  walk  through  the  most  desolate 
quarters  of  the  city,  I  emerged  at  last  upon  the  square  of  St. 
Sophia,  and  saw  my  Italian  friends  standing  in  a  group  before 
a  cafe,  and  advancing  to  meet  me  with  beaming  faces  and  ex- 
tended hands. 


THE    OLD   SERAGLIO.  265 


THE   OLD   SERAGLIO. 

As  at  Granada  before  having  seen  the  Alhambra,  so  at  Con- 
stantinople one  feels  as  if  he  had  seen  nothing  until  he  has 
been  within  the  walls  of  the  Old  Seraglio.  Twenty  times  a  day, 
and  from  all  points  of  the  city  and  the  sea,  that  greenest  of  hills 
is  seen,  full  of  promises  and  secrets,  attracting  the  eye,  and  tor- 
menting the  imagination  like  an  enigma,  until  one  ends  by 
going  there  before  the  appointed  day,  more  to  get  .rid  of  its 
haunting  presence  than  in  search  of  a  pleasure. 

There  is  not  indeed  in  all  Europe  another  corner  of  the 
earth  whose  name  alone  awakens  in  the  mind  so  strange  a  con- 
fusion of  beautiful  and  terrible  images ;  about  which  so  much 
has  been  thought,  and  written,  and  divined  ;  which  has  given 
rise  to  so  many  vague  and  contradictory  notices ;  which  is  still 
the  object  of  so  much  insatiable  curiosity,  of  so  many  insensate 
prejudices,  and  so  many  marvellous  histories.  Now-a-days 
every  body  can  go  in,  and  many  come  out  with  their  expecta- 
tions somewhat  chilled.  But  we  may  be  sure  that  for  centu- 
ries yet  to  come,  when  perhaps  the  Ottoman  domination  shall 
be  but  a  reminiscence  in  Europe,  and  upon  that  loveliest  of 
hills,  the  populous  streets  of  a  new  city  shall  cross  one  another, 
no  traveller  will  pass  that  way  without  seeing  in  his  fancy  the 
image  of  the  Imperial  palaces  that  once  stood  there,  or  without 
envying  us  of  the  nineteenth  century,  who  still  could  find  in 
12 


266  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

those  places  the  vivid  and  speaking  memories  of  the  Ottoman 
reign. 

Who  knows  how  many  archaeologists  will  patiently  seek  out 
the  traces  of  a  door  or  a  wall  in  the  courts  of  the  new  edifices, 
and  how  many  poets  will  write  verses  upon  the  ruins  strewn 
along  the  shores  of  the  sea !  Or  perhaps,  after  many  centuries, 
these  walls  will  still  be  jealously  guarded,  and  the  learned,  and 
the  literary,  and  the  artistic  traveller  will  visit  them,  and  the 
picturesque  and  strange  life  that  existed  there  for  four  hundred 
years  will  rise  again  and  expand  into  a  myriad  of  volumes  and 
of  pictures  over  the  face  of  the  earth. 

It  is  not  beauty  of  architecture  that  attracts  to  those  walls 
such  universal  curiosity.  The  Seraglio  is  not,  like  the  Alham- 
bra,  a  great  monument  of  art.  The  Court  of  Lions  alone,  of  the 
Arab  palace,  is  worth  all  the  kiosks  and  towers  of  the  Turk. 
The  Seraglio  is  a  great  historic  monument,  which  sets  forth  and 
illuminates  the  life  of  the  Ottoman  dynasty  ;  which  bears  writ- 
ten upon  its  stones  and  on  the  trunks  of  its  secular  trees  the 
secret  chronicle  of  the  Turkish  empire.  Nothing  is  wanting 
but  the  record  of  the  last  thirty  years,  and  that  of  the  two  cen- 
turies which  preceded  the  conquest  of  Constantinople.  From 
Mahomet  Second  who  laid  the  foundations,  to  Abdul-Medjid 
who  abandoned  it  to  inhabit  the  palace  of  Dolma  Ragtche, 
twenty-five  Sultans  have  lived  in  it.  Here  the  dynasty  planted 
its  foot  immediately  upon  the  conquest  of  its  European  capital, 
here  it  rose  to  the  apex  of  its  fortune,  and  here  began  its  deca- 
dence. It  was  at  once  a  royal  palace,  a  fortress,  and  a  sanc- 
tuary ;  here  were  the  brain  and  heart  of  Islamism  ;  a  city  within 
a  city,  inhabited  by  a  people  and  guarded  by  an  army,  embrac- 


THE   OLD    SERAGLIO.  267 

ing  within  its  walls  an  infinite  variety  of  edifices,  places  of 
pleasure  or  of  horror  ;  where  the  Sultans  were  born,  ascended 
the  throne,  were  deposed,  imprisoned,  strangled ;  where  all 
conspiracies  began  and  the  cry  of  rebellion  was  first  heard  ; 
where  for  three  centuries  the  eyes  of  anxious  Europe,  timid 
Asia,  and  frightened  Africa  were  fixed,  as  on  a  smoking  vol- 
cano, threatening  ruin  on  all  sides. 

This  monstrous  palace  is  placed  upon  the  most  eastern  of 
the  hills  of  Stamboul,  which  descends  gently  towards  the  sea  of 
Marmora,  the  mouth  of  the  Bosphorus,  and  the  Golden  Horn  ; 
on  the  spot  anciently  occupied  by  the  acropolis  of  Byzantium, 
by  a  portion  of  the  city,  and  a  wing  of  the  palace  of  the  Empe- 
rors. It  is  the  most  beautiful  of  the  hills  and  the  most  favored 
by  nature  of  all  the  promontories  of  the  European  coast.  Con- 
verging towards  it  as  towards  a  centre,  are  two  seas  and  two 
straits  ;  here  began  the  great  military  and  commercial  high  roads 
of  Eastern  Europe;  the  aqueducts  of  the  Byzantine  Emperors 
brought  water  to  it,  the  hills  of  Thrace  protect  it  from  the  north 
winds;  the  sea  bathes  it  on  three  sides;  Galata  and  Scutari 
look  upon  it  on  either  side,  and  the  mountains  of  Bythinia  close 
with  their  snowy  tops  the  Asiatic  horizon.  It  is  a  solitary  em- 
inence, strong  and  beautiful,  seemingly  created  by  nature  to  be 
the  pedestal  of  the  throne  of  a  great  monarch,  almost  God-like 
in  his  power. 

The  whole  hill  is  encircled  at  its  base  by  a  battlemented 
wall  with  towers.  Along  the  sea  this  wall  is  also  the  city  wall  ; 
on  the  land  side  it  was  raised  by  Mahomet  Second,  and  divides 
the  hill  of  the  Seraglio  from  that  of  the  mosque  of  Nuri-Os- 
manie,  turns  at  a  right  angle  towards  the  Sublime  Porte,  passes 


268  CONSTANTINOPLE 

in  front  of  Saint  Sophia,  and  joins  the  wall  of  Stamboul  upon 
the  shore. 

This  is  the  external  boundary  of  the  Seraglio.  The  Se- 
raglio proper  stands  on  the  summit,  surrounded  in  its  turn  by 
high  walls,  forming  a  sort  of  central  redoubt  in  the  great  hill 
fortress. 

But  it  would  be  labor  lost  to  describe  the  Seraglio  as  it  is  at 
present.  The  railway  passes  through  the  outer  walls  ;  a  great 
fire  in  1865  destroyed  many  buildings;  the  gardens  are  in 
great  part  devastated  ;  hospitals,  barracks,  and  military  schools 
have  been  erected  in  them ;  of  the  remaining  edifices,  many 
have  changed  their  form  and  usage  ;  and  although  the  principal 
walls  are  there,  presenting  the  semblance  of  the  old  Seraglio, 
the  alterations  are  such,  and  the  neglect  of  thirty  years  has 
made  such  changes,  that  it  is  not  possible  to  describe  the  place 
without  disappointing  the  most  modest  expectation. 

It  is  better  for  the  writer  and  the  reader  to  see  that  famous 
Seraglio  again  in  the  time  of  Ottoman  greatness.  Then  whoever 
could  embrace  the  whole  hill  in  one  glance,  either  from  the 
battlements  of  one  of  the  highest  towers,  or  from  a  minaret  of 
the  mosque  of  Saint  Sophia,  enjoyed  an  unparalleled  view. 
In  the  midst  of  the  vivid  blue  of  the  sea,  the  Bosphorus,  and  the 
port,  within  the  great  semicircle  of  the  white  sails  of  the  fleet,  rose 
the  green  forest  of  the  hill,  a  forest  composed  of  enormous  trees, 
encircled  by  walls  and  towers,  and  crowned  with  cannon  and 
sentinels.  Upon  the  highest  point  extended  the  vast  rectangle 
of  the  Seraglio  buildings,divided  into  three  great  courts,  or  rather 
into  three  small  cities  built  around  three  unequal  squares,  from 
which  arose  a  multitude  of  variously  colored  roofs,  gilded  domes 


THE   OLD   SERAGLIO.  269 

and  white  minarets,  half  concealed  in  groves  and  gardens.  It  was 
a  little  metropolis,  brilliant  and  irregular,  light  as  an  encamp- 
ment of  tents,  which  had  something  of  voluptuous,  pastoral,  and 
warlike  about  it ;  at  one  point  full  of  life  and  movement,  at  an- 
other mute  and  solitary ;  here  all  gilded  and  open  to  the  sun  ; 
there  inaccessible  to  every  eye  and  plunged  in  perpetual  shade  ; 
gay  with  infinite  fountains,  embellished  with  a  thousand  colors 
and  silvery  reflections  in  the  marbles  of  the  colonnades,  and  in 
the  waters  of  the  little  lakes. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  Imperial  abode  as  seen  from 
above,  not  so  vast,  but  so  divided  and  subdivided  and  so  intri- 
cate within,  that  servants  who  had  Jived  in  it  for  fifty  years  never 
knew  it  thoroughly,  and  the  janissaries  who  invaded  it  for  the 
third  time,  lost  themselves  in  its  intricacies. 

The  principal  entrance  was  and  is  still  the  Bab-Umaium,  or 
"  august  gate,"  which  opens  on  the  small  square  where  is  the 
fountain  of  Sultan  Ahmed,  behind  the  mosque  of  Saint  Sophia. 
It  is  a  large  door  of  white  and  black  marble,  decorated  with 
rich  arabesques,  above  which  rises  a  lofty  construction  with 
eight  windows  covered  by  a  projecting  roof.  It  belongs  to  that 
mixed  Arab  and  Persian  style  by  which  almost  all  the  buildings 
erected  by  the  Turks  immediately  after  the  conquest  may  be 
recognized,  before  they  began  to  imitate  Byzantine  architecture. 
Above  the  door  may  still  be  read  on  a  marble  slab,  the  inscrip- 
tion placed  there  by  Mahomet  Second  : — "  Allah  preserve  eter- 
nally the  glory  of  its  possessor," — "Allah  strengthen  the  edi- 
fice,—Allah  fortify  the  foundations."  It  was  in  front  of  this 
door  that  the  people  of  Stamboul  came  every  morning  to  see 
what  nobles  of  the  state  and  court  had  lost  their  heads  during 


2  JO  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

the  night.  The  heads  were  suspended  from  a  nail  within  two 
niches  that  are  on  either  side  of  the  door,  or  were  exposed  in  a 
silver  basin  near  which  were  affixed  the  accusation  and  the 
sentence.  In  the  square  before  this  door  were  thrown  the  bod- 
ies of  those  who  had  been  decapitated  ;  and  then  came,  waiting 
the  order  which  should  give  them  entrance  into  the  first  enclos- 
ure of  the  Seraglio,  detachments  from  the  distant  armies,  bring- 
ing trophies  of  victory  ;  bloody  and  glittering  groups  bearing 
arms,  banners,  heads  of  conquered  captains,  and  splendid  mili- 
tary insignia.  The  door  was  guarded  by  a  large  company  of 
capigi,  sons  of  nobles,  pompously  arrayed  ;  who  looked  on  from 
the  windows  and  over  the  wall  at  the  continual  procession  of 
people  coming  and  going,  or  kept  back  the  too  curious  crowd  with 
their  large  scimetars.  Passing  by,  the  devout  Mussulman  murr 
mured  a  prayer  for  his  sublime  Lord  ;  the  poor  but  ambitious 
youth  dreamed  of  the  day  when  he  too  should  cross  that 
threshold  to  receive  the  horse-tail  standard  ;  (the  sign  of  a 
Pasha's  rank)  the  pretty,  ragged  girl  fancied  herself  a  splendid 
odalisque  ;  the  relations  of  the  victims  cast  down  their 
eyes  and  trembled  ;  and  a  serene  silence  reigned  all  over 
the  place,  broken  three  times  a  day  by  the  voice  of  the 
muezzin. 

By  the  gate  Umaium,  one  entered  the  so-called  court  of  the 
janissaries,  the  first  enclosure  of  the  Seraglio.  This  great  court 
is  still  in  existence,  surrounded  by  irregular  buildings,  very  long, 
and  shaded  by  groups  of  large  trees,  among  which  is  that  enor- 
mous plane  tree  known  as  the  tree  of  the  janissaries,  whose  trunk 
it  takes  ten  men  to  embrace.  On  the  left  is  the  church  of  St. 
Irene,  founded  by  Constantine,  and  converted  by  the  Turks  into 


THE   OLD  SERAGLIO.  27 1 

an  armory.  Beyond  and  all  around  once  stood  the  hospital  of 
the  Seraglio,  the  public  Treasury,  the  imperial  stables,  the 
kitchens,  the  barracks  of  the  capigi,  the  mint,  and  the  houses  of 
high  officers  of  the  court.  Under  the  great  plane  tree  there  are 
still  two  small  stone  columns  on  which  decapitations  took  place. 
By  this  court  passed  all  those  who  were  going  to  the  Divan,  or 
to  have  audience  of  the  Sultan.  One  hundred  and  fifty  bakers 
and  two  hundred  cooks  and  scullions  worked  in  the  kitchens  and 
prepared  food  for  that  monstrous  family,  u  who  ate  the  bread  and 
salt  of  the  Grand  Signor."  Long  caravans  of  mules  and  camels 
came  in  bearing  provisions  for  the  table,  or  arms  from  defeated 
armies  to  the  church  of  St.  Irene,  where  near  the  sabre  of  Ma- 
homet, sparkled  the  scimetar  of  Scanderbeg,  and  the  armlets 
of  Tamerlane.  The  tax-gatherers  came,  followed  by  slaves 
laden  with  gold  for  the  Treasury,  where  there  were  riches 
enough,  as  the  Grand  Vizier  of  Solomon  said,  to  build  fleets 
with  silver  anchors  and  silken  cordage.  Here  too  passed  the 
nine  hundred  horses  of  Murad  Fourth,  that  fed  out  of  silver 
mangers,  led  by  splendid  Bulgarian  grooms.  From  morning 
till  night  there  was  a  glitter  of  magnificent  uniforms,  amid  which 
shone  out  the  high  white  turbans  of  the  janissaries,  and  the  tall 
heron  plumes  of  the  solaks,  while  the  silver  helmets  of  the 
peiks,  the  Sultan's  guards,  dressed  in  golden  tunics  bound  at 
the  waist  with  jewelled  girdles  ;  the  zuluftu-baltagi,  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  officers  of  the  household,  with  long  woolly  tresses 
pendant  from  their  caps ;  the  kassek),  with  their  emblematical 
staves  in  hand ;  servants  of  the  Grand  Vizier  with  their  whips 
ornamented  with  silver  chains  ;  and  a  mingled  crowd  of  arch- 
ers, lancers,  "  valiant  guards,"  and  " guardie  temerarie^  black 


272  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

eunuchs  and  white  eunuchs,  and  haughty  gentlemen  belonging 
to  the  court,  came  and  went  at  all  hours  of  the  day. 

But  the  disorder  was  only  in  appearance  ;  for  the  move- 
ments of  all  were  regulated  with  the  utmost  precision.  At  dawn 
the  thirty- two  muezzins,  chosen  for  their  sweet  voices,  announced 
the  day  from  the  minarets  of  the  Seraglio  mosques;  meeting  as 
they  came  in  the  astronomers  and  astrologers  who  had  passed 
the  night  upon  the  terraces  studying  the  propitious  hours  for 
the  Sultan's  occupations.  Then  came  the  first  physician  to  ask 
about  the  health  of  the  Padishah  ;  the  ulema  arrived  whose 
duty  it  was  to  give  religious  instruction  to  his  illustrious  dis- 
ciple ;  the  private  secretary,  to  read  to  him  the  petitions  re- 
ceived the  evening  before ;  the  professors  of  arts  and  sciences 
passed,  going  to  the  third  court  to  give  lessons  to  the  imperial 
pages.  Each  at  a  fixed  hour,  all  the  personages  who  held 
office  under  the  Sultan  came  to  receive  orders  for  the  day. 
The  general  of  the  Imperial  guard,  and  governor  of  the  Seraglio 
and  all  the  Sultan's  villas  scattered  along  the  shores  of  the  Bos- 
phorus,  came  to  ask  if  it  pleased  the  Grand  Signor  to  take  an 
airing  on  the  sea,  because  if  so,  it  was  he  whose  duty  it  was  to 
steer  while  his  bostangis  had  the  honor  of  rowing.  The  grand 
master  of  the  hunt,  the  grand  falconer,  and  others  of  lesser 
rank  came  to  know  their  master's  wishes,  whether  he  would  fly 
white  falcon  or  black,  vulture  or  sparrow-hawk ;  these,  with 
many  more,  all  distinguished  by  their  special  costume  and 
color.  No  confusion  was  possible  in  that  endless  procession. 
The  mufti  was  in  white  ;  the  vizier  was  recognized  by  his  pale 
green  dress,  the  chamberlain  by  his  gown  of  scarlet ;  dark  blue 
distinguished  the  six  first  legislative  officials ;  the  grand  ulema 


THE   OLD   SERAGLIO.  273 

or  high  priest  wore  violet ;  the  sheiks  light  blue ;  dark  green 
was  the  privilege  of  the  aga  of  the  imperial  staff  and  the  bearer 
of  the  sacred  standard ;  the  officers  of  the  stables  wore  light 
green  ;  the  generals  of  the  army  had  red  boots,  the  officers  of 
the  Porte,  yellow,  the  ulemas  blue  ;  and  the  depth  and  humility 
of  the  salutations  corresponded  to  the  scale  of  colors.  The 
chief  of  police  and  commander  of  an  army  of  jailors  and  execu- 
tioners passed  between  two  ranks  of  bowed  heads  ;  before  the 
Grand  Eunuch,  Marshal  of  the  Court,  helmets,  turbans,  and 
plumes  went  down  as  before  a  mighty  wind.  All  those  whose 
duties  brought  them  near  the  person  of  the  Sultan  received 
special  demonstrations  of  respect  and  curiosity.  The  court 
preacher,  and  the  grand  master  of  the  wardrobe,  who  threw 
coins  to  the  people  on  imperial  birthdays,  passed  amid  a  respect- 
ful murmur,  and  a  thousand  curious  eyes  followed  the  fortunate 
Mussulman  whose  duty  it  was  to  shave  the  imperial  head  once 
in  every  ten  days.  The  chief  cook  received  much  adulation, 
and  ceremonious  smiles  greeted  the  guardian  of  the  parrots  and 
nightingales,  whose  service  brought  him  into  the  more  secret 
corners  of  the  palace.  Twice  a  day  a  hundred  scullions  issued 
from  the  kitchen,  bringing  enormous  pyramids  of  rice,  and 
sheep  roasted  whole,  which  were  placed  under  the  shade  of  the 
trees  and  arcades,  and  a  crowd  of  guards  and  servants  converted 
the  court  into  a  military  banqueting  hall.  Later  the  scene 
changed,  and  foreign  ambassadors  arrived  "  between  two  walls 
of  silk  and  gold."  Then,  as  Soliman  the  Great  wrote  to  the 
Shah  of  Persia,  "the  entire  universe  flowed  by."  Envoys  from 
Charles  the  Fifth  and  Francis  the  First  came  side  by  side  with 
ambassadors  from  Hungary,  Servia,  and  Poland,  and  the  repub- 
12* 


274  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

lies  of  Genoa  and  Venice.  These  and  thousands  more  of  every 
rank  and  condition  passed  by,  with  slow,  composed  step,  silent, 
or  speaking  under  the  breath  in  correct  and  circumspect  lan- 
guage proper  to  the  place  ;  and  there  was  an  exchange  of  grave 
and  scrutinizing  looks,  a  touching  with  the  hand  of  forehead 
and  breast,  a  discreet  murmur  of  low  words,  and  a  rustle  of 
garments  and  slippers,  which  gave  something  grave  and  monk- 
ish to  the  aspect  of  that  motley  crowd,  contrasting  boldly  with 
the  warlike  fierceness  of  their  faces,  the  pomp  and  splendor 
of  their  dress  and  arms.  In  all  eyes  one  thought  could  be 
read,  on  all  foreheads  lay  the  burden  of  terror;  terror  of  one 
man,  before  whom  great  and  small  alike  were  but  as  the  dust 
of  the  earth. 

From  this  first  court  you  entered  the  second  by  the  great 
Bab-el-selam,  or  gate  of  Health,  which  still  stands  intact  be- 
tween two  towers,  and  here  no  one  passes  even  now  without  a 
firman.  Formerly  it  was  enclosed  by  two  great  folding  doors 
in  front  and  other  two  within,  making  when  they  were  closed  a 
large  dark  chamber,  where  a  man  could  be  secretly  despatched. 
Below  it  were  the  cells  of  the  executioners,  which  communicated 
with  the  Divan  by  a  dark  passage.  There  high  personages 
who  had  fallen  into  disgrace  went  to  receive  sentence,  which 
was  often  followed  by  instant  execution.  In  those  days,  gov- 
ernors and  disgraced  viziers  were  called  to  the  Seraglio  on 
some  pretext ;  they  passed,  unsuspicious,  under  the  gloomy 
archway,  and  entered  the  Divan,  where  they  were  received  with 
a  benevolent  smile,  or  a  mild  severity  that  seemed  to  threaten 
only  distant  castigation.  Dismissed,  they  returned  the  way 
they  came,  and  were  never  more  seen  alive.     If  a  dying  cry 


THE   OLD   SERAGLIO.  2?$ 

was  heard  in  the  court,  a  few  people  turned  that  way  for  a  mo- 
ment and  then  resumed  their  avocations.  There  is  still  under 
the  archway  to  the  right  the  little  iron  door  of  the  prison  into 
which  the  victim  was  thrown  when  he  was  not  to  be  done  to 
death  at  once,  either  to  prolong  his  agony,  or  to  be  sent  into 
exile. 

The  inner  court  which  is  entered  by  the  Bab-el-selam,  is  a 
vast  irregular  space,  a  measureless  hall  with  the  sky  for  a  ceil- 
ing, surrounded  by  graceful  buildings  and  gilded  domes,  dotted 
with  groups  of  beautiful  trees,  and  crossed  by  two  alleys  of  gi- 
gantic cypresses.  Around  the  whole  runs  a  light  arcade,  sup- 
ported by  slender  marble  columns,  and  with  a  projecting  roof 
covered  with  lead.  To  the  left  on  entering  was  the  hall  of  the 
Divan,  surmounted  by  a  glittering  dome  ;  further  on  the  hall  of 
reception,  its  six  enormous  marble  columns  sustaining  a  roof 
with  undulating  edges  ;  the  whole,  columns,  walls,  and  roof 
carved,  painted,  and  gilded  with  such  light  and  delicate  work- 
manship that  it  resembled  a  pavilion  of  lace  set  with  jewels  ; 
and  shaded  by  a  group  of  superb  plane  trees.  On  the  other 
side  were  various  halls  and  magazines,  kitchens  and  so  forth. 
In  these  last  were  prepared  the  meals  for  the  viziers  on  the  days 
when  a  divan  was  held,  and,  on  the  occasions  of  circumcisions 
and  royal  marriages,  the  famous  dishes  of  sweet  pastry,  camels 
and  giraffes  in  sugar,  and  sheep  roasted  whole,  from  which 
flocks  of  birds  came  out,  which  were  borne  in  great  pomp  into 
the  square  of  the  Hippodrome. 

Of  all  the  buildings  that  surround  this  court,  I  saw  only  the 
hall  of  the  Divan,  which  is  almost  exactly  as  it  was  when  it  was 
used  for  the  sittings  of  the  Council  of  State.     It  is  a  large  hall 


276  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

with  a  vaulted  ceiling,  lighted  from  above  by  small  moresque 
windows,  and  lined  with  marble  arabesqued  with  gold,  with  no 
furniture  beyond  the  Divan  upon  which  sat  the  members  of  the 
council.  Above  the  seat  of  the  Grand  Vizier  there  is  still  the 
small,  gold-latticed  window  where  Soliman  the  Great  and  all  the 
Sultans  after  him,  assisted  or  were  supposed  to  assist,  unseen, 
at  the  sittings  of  the  council ;  a  secret  passage  led  from  this 
small  hidden  chamber  to  the  imperial  apartments  on  the  third 
court.  Five  times  a  week  the  council  of  ministers  sat,  the  Grand 
Vizier  presiding.  He  sat  opposite  the  door  of  entrance  ;  near 
him  the  Capidan-Pasha-grand  admiral ;  the  two  judges  of  Ana- 
tolia and  Rumelia,  representing  the  magistracy  of  the  provinces 
of  Asia  and  Europe  ;  on  one  side  the  imperial  Treasurers  ;  on 
the  other  the  Niscia?idg},  or  officers  who  affixed  the  Sultan's 
seal  to  the  decrees  ;  beyond,  to  the  right  and  left  two  rows  of 
ulemas  and  chamberlains,  and  at  the  corners  the  bearers  of 
orders  and  executioners  of  punishment,  trained  to  comprehend 
every  look  or  sign. 

It  was  a  spectacle  before  which  the  boldest  trembled,  and 
the  most  innocent  fearfully  questioned  their  conscience.  A 
pale  light  descending  from  above  fell  upon  the  white  turbans, 
the  grave  faces,  the  long  beards  and  rich  dresses  of  the  mag- 
nates. Their  voices  sounded  one  after  the  other,  tranquil  and 
monotonous  as  the  murmur  of  a  stream,  while  the  accused, 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  hall,  knew  not  which  mouth  was 
speaking.  Evety-  look  was  studied,  every  word  weighed,  every 
thought  divined  ;  and  sentence  of  death  came  forth  in  quiet,  low 
voiced  words,  after  long  consultation  in  the  midst  of  a  sepul- 
chral silence.     But  these  haughty  and  impassive  judges  were 


THE   OLD   SERAGLIO.  2"J"J 

startled  in  their  turn,  when  Murad  the  Fourth,  or  the  Second 
Selim  shook  with  furious  hand  the  gilded  lattice  of  the  secret 
chamber!  Then,  after  long  silence  and  hurried  consultation  by' 
the  eyes,  they  resumed  their  sitting  with  impassible  faces  and 
solemn  voices,  but  ice  cold  hands  were  trembling  under  their 
long  sleeves,  and  they  recommended  their  souls  to  God. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  second  court,  which  might  be  called 
the  diplomatic  court  of  the  Seraglio,  opened  a  third  great  door 
with  marble  columns  and  projecting  portico,  before  which  a 
company  of  white  eunuchs  and  one  of  capigi  kept  guard  night 
and  day,  armed  with  sabre  and  dagger. 

This  was  the  famous  Bab-Seadet,  or  Gate  of  Felicity,  which 
led  to  the  third  court ;  the  sacred  door  that  remained  closed 
for  four  centuries  to  any  Christian  who  did  not  present  himself 
in  the  name  of  a  king  or  a  people  ;  the  mysterious  portal  from 
which  issued  and  spread  themselves  about  the  world  so  many 
legends  of  sorrow  and  of  pleasure,  so  many  images  of  beauty, 
so  many  revelations  of  secrets  of  love  or  blood,  and  an  infinite 
quantity  of  voluptuous  and  terrible  poetry;  the  solemn  entrance 
into  the  sanctuary  of  the  king  of  kings,  which  the  people  regarded 
with  a  secret  sense  of  terror,  like  the  gate  of  some  enchanted 
place,  entering  which  the  profane  creature  must  remain  petri- 
fied, seeing  things  that  human  language  could  not  describe. 
Even  now  the  traveller  of  the  coldest  imagination  hesitates 
before  this  door  and  sees  with  amazement  the  shadow  of  his 
cylindrical  head-gear  thrown  upon  its  half-closed  portals. 

And  yet  upon  this  very  gate  the  tide  of  military  rebellion 
rose  and  beat.  It  may  even  be  said  that  this  corner  of  the 
great  court,  between  the  hall  of  the  Divan  and  the  Seadet  gate, 


278  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

is  the  point  where  the  fury  of  the  rebels  was  boldest  and  most 
sanguinary.  The  Grand  Signor  governed  with  the  sword,  and 
,the  sword  dictated  the  law  to  him.  The  despotism  which  for- 
bade access  to  the  Seraglio  was  the  same  that  violated  its  pen- 
etralia. Then  was  seen  on  what  a  fragile  pedestal  the  mena- 
cing colossus  stood  !  Hordes  of  armed  janissaries  and  spahis 
bearing  torches,  beat  down  in  the  middle  of  the  night  the  first 
and  second  gates,  and  burst  in,  waving  on  the  points  of  their 
scimetars  the  petitions  demanding  the  heads  of  the  obnoxious 
viziers,  and  their  shouts  resounded  in  the  sacred  precincts  of 
their  sovereign,  where  all  was  terror  and  confusion.  In  vain 
were  bags  of  gold  and  silver  coin  thrown  down  among  them 
from  the  walls ;  in  vain  sheiks,  muftis,  ulemas,  and  grandees  of 
the  court  besought  them  with  courteous  and  supplicating 
words  ;  in  vain  the  pale  women  within  showed  themselves  with 
their  little  children  at  the  grated  windows.  The  thousand- 
headed  monster,  unchained  and  blind  with  fury,  demanded  his 
prey.  The  Sultan,  surrounded  by  his  eunuchs  and  frightened 
pages,  appeared  behind  the  barricades  of  the  door,  and  be- 
sought grace  and  pardon  for  the  condemned  in  the  name  of 
their  mothers,  of  the  Prophet,  of  the  glory  of  the  Empire,  of  the 
peace  of  the  world.  A  yell  of  insult  and  of  menace  and  a  wild 
waving  of  torches  and  scimetars  were  the  only  response.  And 
then,  one  by  one,  from  the  gate  of  Felicity  staggered  the  vic- 
tims, the  treasurers,  the  viziers,  the  eunuchs,  the  favorites,  the 
generals,  and  falling  among  those  wild  beasts  thirsting  for  their 
blood,  were  despatched  and  trodden  under  foot.  So  Murad 
the  Third  threw  out  Mehemet,  his  favorite  falconer,  and  saw 
him  torn  to  pieces ;  so  Mahomet  the  Third  sacrificed  the  Kis- 


THE   OLD   SERAGLIO.  279 

lar-aga  Othman,  and  the  white  eunuch  Ghaznefer,  and  was 
constrained  to  salute  the  soldiers  in  presence  of  the  bloody 
corpses ;  so  Murad  the  Fourth  with  sobs  drove  out  Hafiz,  his 
grand  vizier,  stabbed  to  death  by  seventeen  poniards ;  and 
so  Selim  the  Third  gave  over  to  death  the  whole  of  his  Divan ; 
and  while  the  Padishah  turned  back  into  his  apartment,  curs- 
ing, and  torn  with  rage  and  grief,  the  rebels  were  dragging 
the  corpses  in  triumph  and  by  torch-light  about  the  streets  of 
Stamboul. 

The  first  edifice  that  one  encounters  on  entering  the  Felicity 
gate  is  the  hall  of  the  Throne,  which  it  is  permitted  to  visit. 
It  is  a  small  square  building,  round  which  runs  a  beautiful 
marble  gallery,  with  a  rich  doorway,  flanked  by  two  fountains. 
The  hall  is  covered  by  a  vaulted  ceiling  decorated  with  ara- 
besque in  gold,  the  walls  are  decorated  by  marble  and  porcelain 
tiles  forming  symmetrical  figures,  and  in  the  middle  there  is  a 
marble  basin  for  a  fountain.  Tall  windows  of  stained  glass 
light  the  hall,  and  at  one  end  is  the  throne,  in  the  form  of  a 
large  bed,  covered  by  a  canopy  fringed  with  pearls,  and  sup- 
ported by  four  tall,  slender  columns  of  gilded  copper.  These 
columns  are  ornamented  with  arabesques  and  set  with  precious 
stones,  and  are  surmounted  by  four  golden  globes  bearing  cres- 
cents, from  which  depend  four  horse-tails,  emblems  of  the  mil- 
itary power  of  the  Padishah.  1  thought  as  I  entered,  of  the 
nineteen  brothers  of  Mahomet  the  Third.  They  had  received 
sentence  of  death  in  their  prison,  as  the  cannon  announced  to 
Europe  and  Asia  the  death  of  their  father.  The  mutes  of  the 
Seraglio  piled  the  nineteen  corpses  in  front  of  the  throne. 

They  were  of  all  ages,  from  infancy  to  maturity,  the  blonde 


28o  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

baby  head  resting  upon  the  breast  of  the  man,  grey  locks  min- 
gling with  gold,  red  prison  .caftans  beside  cradle  wrappings. 
These  bright  marbles  and  glittering  arabesques  have  seen 
strange  sights  in  their  day,  here  when  burst  out  the  formidable 
anger  of  Selim  the  Second,  of  Ahmed  First,  of  Murad  Fourth 
and  Ibrahim,  exulting  spectacles  of  despairing  agonies  ! 

Coming  out  from  the  pavilion  of  the  throne,  you  pass 
through  various  gardens  and  courts  surrounded  by  small  build- 
ings with  marble  colonades  and  Moorish  arches.  Here  the 
imperial  pages  resided,  and  the  education  fitting  them  to  fill 
high  offices  of  state  was  carried  on  by  learned  and  competent 
men.  One  of  the  graceful  Saracenic  kiosks,  with  open  peri- 
style which  formerly  existed  here  and  held  the  library,  still 
remains.  It  is  chiefly  admirable  for  its  fine  bronze  door,  deco- 
rated with  reliefs  in  jasper  and  lapis-lazuli,  of  intricate  design 
and  exquisite  workmanship.  The  Imperial  treasury  stood 
here,  holding  the  immense  riches,  composed  for  the  greater  part 
of  arms  taken  from  conquered  armies,  or  given  or  bequeathed 
by  the  Sultans  themselves.  Mahmoud  the  Second,  who  was  an 
accomplished  penman,  and  proud  of  the  fact,  left  his  golden 
inkstand  encrusted  with  diamonds  to  the  treasury.  Now  the 
greater  part  of  this  treasure  has  passed  into  the  exchequer  in 
the  shape  of  gold  coin. 

Not  far  from  the  pavilion  of  the  treasury,  in  a  solitary  gar- 
den, still  stands  that  famous  bird  cage  in  which  in  the  time  of 
Mahomet  the  Fourth  and  after,  those  princes  of  the  blood  who 
gave  umbrage  to  the  Padishah,  were  shut  up ;  and  there 
remained  until  a  rebellio'n  of  janissaries  should  call  them  to  the 
throne,  or    the  executioner  should  bow-string  them.     It  is  a 


THE   OLD  SERAGLIO.  28 1 

building  in  the  form  of  a  temple,  windovvless,  with  thick  walls, 
lighted  from  above,  and  having  one  small  iron  door  strongly 
barred,  against  which  a  great  stone  was  placed.  Here  Abdul- 
Aziz  was  shut  up  during  the  few  days  that  passed  between  his 
fall  from  the  throne  and  his  death.  Here  Ibrahim,  the  Otto- 
man Caligula,  made  his  miserable  end,  and  his  image  is  the  first 
that  rises  before  the  visitor  on  the  threshold  of  that  necropolis 
of  the  living. 

The  military  agas  had  pulled  him  down  from  his  throne 
and  dragged  him  to  prison.  Here  he  was  incarcerated  with 
two  of  his  favorite  women.  After  the  first  fury  of  despair,  he 
became  resigned.  "  This,"  he  said,  "  was  written  upon  my 
forehead;  it  was  God's  command."  Of  all  his  empire,  there 
remained  to  him  only  this  prison,  two  slaves,  and  the  Koran ; 
but  he  thought  himself  secure  of  life,  and  lived  tranquilly,  con- 
soled by  a  ray  of  hope  that  his  partisans  of  the  barrack  and  the 
tavern  would  some  day  rise  and  come  to  his  aid.  But  he  had 
forgotten  that  sentence  of  the  Koran  which  says : — "  When 
there  are  two  califs — kill  one  !" — and  the  muftis  remembered 
it.  His  last  day  was  passed  seated  on  a  mat  in  a  corner  of  his 
prison,  reading  the  Koran  to  his  two  slaves,  who  stood  with 
arms  crossed  on  their  breasts  before  him.  Dressed  in  a  black 
caftan,  confined  at  the  waist  by  a  ragged  shawl,  and  with  a  red 
woollen  cap  on  his  head,  his  face,  though  pale,  was  resigned 
and  calm.  Suddenly  a  low  sound  made  him  spring  to  his  feet, 
and  at  the  open  door  a  group  of  sinister  figures  confronted  him. 
He  understood,  and  raised  his  eyes  to  a  latticed  gallery  that 
projected  high  up  on  the  wall,  where  through  the  gratings  he 
could  see  the  cold  impassible  faces  of  the  muftis  and  viziers 


282  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

looking  down.  Terror  took  possession  of  him,  and  a  flood  of 
supplicating  words  poured  from  his  lips  : — "  Have  pity  on  me  1 
Have  pity  on  the  Padishah  !  Give  me  my  life  !  If  there  is 
one  among  you  who  has  eaten  my  bread,  let  him  help  me  in  the 
name  of  God  !  Thou,  mufti  Abdul-Zahim,  take  care  what  thou 
doest !  I  could  have  killed  thee  for  a  traitor,  and  I  spared 
thee,  and  now  thou  strikest  at  my  life !" — The  executioner, 
trembling,  raised  his  eyes  to  the  grated  gallery ;  but  a  hard 
voice  issued  thence,  and  said  : — "  Kari-Ali,  do  thy  duty."  The 
officer  placed  his  hand  on  Ibrahim's  shoulder,  but  Ibrahim, 
with  a  cry,  fled  into  a  corner  and  took  refuge  behind  the  two 
women.  Then  Kari-Ali  and  the  rest  fell  upon  him,  casting 
the  slaves  aside,  and  in  a  moment  a  small  silken  cord  had 
launched  into  eternity  the  nineteenth  Sultan  of  the  dynasty  of 
Osman. 

Other  edifices,  besides  those  described  and  those  of  the 
harem,  were  scattered  here  and  there  among  the  groves  and 
gardens.  There  were  the  baths  of  Selim  the  Second,  compre- 
hending thirty-two  vast  halls,  resplendent  in  marble,  gold,  and 
colors  ;  there  were  kiosks  round  and  octagon,  with  roofs  of 
every  shape,  at  whose  windows  of  stained  glass  hung  gilded 
cages  full  of  parrots  and  nightingales,  where  the  Sultan  went  to 
hear  the  "  Thousand  and  One  Nights  "  read  by  aged  dervishes  ; 
and  a  host  of  others  for  all  uses  and  pleasures.  Finally,  in  the 
more  secret  quarters  of  the  harem  was  the  temple  of  relics,  or 
"  chamber  of  noble garments  "  imitated  from  the  gilded  halls  of 
the  Byzantine  Emperors  and  closed  by  a  door  of  silver;  in 
which  was  preserved  the  mantle  of  the  Prophet,  solemnly  dis- 
played  once  a  year  in  the  presence  of  the  assembled  court, 


THE   OLD  SERAGLIO.  283 

his  staff;  his  bow  enclosed  in  a  silver  case  ;  the  relics  of  the 
Kaaba,  and  the  sacred  and  venerated  holy  war  standard,  wrap- 
ped in  forty  silken  coverings,  the  sight  of  which  would  strike 
blind  as  by  lightning  the  infidel  who  should  dare  to  fix  his  eyes 
upon  it.  Everything  that  was  most  sacred  and  precious  to  the 
race  and  empire  was  gathered  there  in  that  discreet  and  shaded 
spot,  towards  which,  from  all  parts  of  the  metropolis,  seemed  to 
converge  a  prostrate  and  adoring  crowd  of  worshippers. 

In  one  angle  of  this  retired  spot,  to  the  left  on  entering, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  most  luxuriant  trees,  amid  the  murmur 
of  fountains  and  the  song  of  birds,  rose  the  harem,  which  was 
like  a  separate  quarter  of  the  Imperial  city,  and  was  composed 
of  many  small  white  buildings  with  leaden  domes,  shaded  by 
orange  trees  and  umbrella  pines,  separated  by  small  gardens 
with  walls  covered  with  ivy  and  honeysuckle,  and  paths  laid 
down  in  a  bright  mosaic  of  shells  and  pebbles  ;  the  whole  en- 
closed, divided  and  subdivided  ;  the  balconies  covered  in,  the 
windows  grated  and  further  protected  by  rose- colored  blinds, 
and  colored  glass,  the  doors  barred  with  iron,  the  paths  with- 
out any  issue,  and  on  all  a  freshness  and  shaded  coolness,  an 
air  of  mystery  and  peace  conducive  to  revery.  Here  lived  and 
loved  and  was  continually  renewed  the  great  family  of  the  Se- 
raglio It  was  like  an  immense  monastery,  whose  religion  was 
pleasure,  and  whose  God  the  Sultan.  There  were  the  Imperial 
apartments  in  which  resided  the  four  first  wives  of  the  Grand 
Signor,  each  one  of  whom  had  her  kiosk,  her  own  little  court, 
her  grand  officials,  her  boats  lined  with  satin,  her  gilded  car- 
riages, her  eunuchs,  her  slaves,  and  her  "  slipper  money/'  which 
was  the  revenue  of  a  province.     The  Sultana  mother  lived  here 


284  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

with  all  her  innumerable  following,  and  all  the  aunts,  sisters, 
sons,  and  nephews  of  the  Padishah,  forming  a  court  within  a 
court,  with  a  host  of  baby  princes. 

What  memories  among  these  groves  and  gardens !  what 
visions  of  the  lovely  daughters  of  the  Caucasus  and  the  Archi- 
pelago, the  mountains,  the  desert,  and  the  sea,  Mussulman, 
Nazarene,  idolaters,  won  in  battle  by  the  Pashas,  presented  by 
princes,  stolen  by  corsairs,  pass  like  shadows  under  those  sil- 
very domes !  These  are  the  walls  which  beheld  the  first  Ibra- 
him, his  head  crowned  with  flowers,  and  his  beard  sparkling 
with  gems,  holding  high  festival  among  his  slaves ;  here  dwelt 
the  third  Murad,  father  of  a  hundred  sons ;  and  here  Murad 
the  Fourth  sank  into  infamous  decrepitude  at  thirty  years 
of  age. 

Let  us  try  to  imagine  what  life  was  like  in  that  place  on  a 
beautiful  April  day,  under  the  reign  of  Soliman  the  Great.  The 
sky  is  serene,  the  air  full  of  spring  perfumes,  the  gardens  gay 
with  flowers.  In  the  labyrinth  of  paths  still  wet  with  dew, 
lounge  black  eunuchs  in  splendid  attire,  and  slaves,  clothed  in 
striped  stuffs  of  vivid  colors,  pass  and  repass  carrying  baskets 
and  vessels  covered  with  green  veils  between  the  kitchens  and 
kiosks.  Under  the  shadow  of  the  trees  the  Sultan's  buffoons, 
and  dwarfs  in  harlequin  habits  with  turbans  of  grotesque  pro- 
portions, are  romping  together.  Near  by,  behind  a  hedge,  a 
gigantic  eunuch,  by  an  imperceptible  sign  of  finger,  gives  orders 
to  five  mutes,  executioners  of  punishment,  to  go  to  the  Kislar- 
aga,  who  requires  their  services  for  a  secret  matter.  Youths 
of  an  ambiguous  style  of  beauty,  and  dressed  richly  in  a  semi- 
feminine  fashion,  are  chasing  each  other  about  under  the  plane 


THE   OLD   SERAGLIO.  285 

trees.  In  another  part  a  group  of  slave  women  stop  and  divide, 
bowing  on  either  side  as  the  Kiaya,  or  governess  of  the  harem, 
passes  by,  returning  their  salutation  by  a  sign  from  her  staff  of 
office,  a  small  silver  baton  with  the  imperial  seal  on  one  end. 
The  door  of  a  neighboring  kiosk  opens  and  a  cadina  (wife  of 
the  Sultan)  comes  forth,  dressed  in  pale  blue,  and  wrapped  in 
a  thick  white  veil,  followed  by  her  slave  women.  She  is  going, 
by  permission  of  the  governess,  to  play  ball  with  another  cadina 
in  an  alley  of  the  garden,  and  meeting  one  of  the  Sultan's  sis- 
ters with  her  children  and  slaves,  the  two  ladies  exchange  a 
languid  salutation.  In  front  of  another  kiosk,  a  eunuch 
awaits  the  sign  which  is  to  permit  the  entrance  of  a  Jewess 
who  has  jewels  to  sell ;  and  who  after  much  intriguing  has  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  the  right  of  entry  into  the  imperial  harem, 
where  she  will  carry  other  things  besides  jewels,  in  the  shape 
of  messages  from  ambitious  Pashas  and  audacious  lovers.  At 
the  other  extremity  of  the  harem  the  hanum,  whose  duty  it  is 
to  visit  the  newly  arrived  slaves,  is  seeking  the  governess  to 
inform  her  that  the  young  Abyssinian  just  arrived,  is  in  her 
judgment  worthy  to  be  received  among  the  ghcdudh*  although 
she  has  a  small  excrescence  on  her  left  shoulder. 

Meantime  in  a  green  spot  surrounded  by  hedges  the  twenty 
nurses  of  the  princes  born  during  the  year  are  gathered  with 
their  charges,  while  a  number  of  female  slaves  play  on  guitars 
and  flutes,  and  a  crowd  of  children  dressed  in  blue  and  crim- 
son dance  merrily  to  the  music,  the  Sultana  Valide  throwing 
bonbons  to  them  from  her  window. 

The  treasuress  of  the  harem    arrives,  followed  by  three 

*  The  Sultan's  favorite  women. 


286  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

slaves,  with  some  important  news  written  on  their  faces  ;  the 
imperial  ships  that  have  been  sent  to  meet  the  Genoese  and 
Venetian  galleys  have  crossed  them  twenty  miles  from  the  port 
of  Sira  and  have  taken  possession  of  all  the  silks  and  velvets 
of  the  cargo  for  the  harem  of  the  Padishah.  There  is  a  con- 
tinual opening  and  shutting  of  doors,  and  rising  and  dropping 
of  curtains  by  which  messengers  on  all  sorts  of  affairs  are  com- 
ing and  going,  and  everywhere  curious  lookers-on  behind  the 
lattices,  mute  salutations  exchanged  between  terraces  and 
gardens,  furtive  signs  behind  the  curtains,  laughter  loud  and  low, 
and  rapid  flight  of  feminine  drapery  along  the  cloistered  walls. 
But  it  was  not  only  intrigue  and  puerilities  that  went  on 
within  those  temples  and  gardens.  Politics  entered  there  by 
every  door  and  every  grated  window,  and  the  power  exercised 
by  bright  eyes  over  affairs  of  state  was  not  less  there  than  in  the 
kingdoms  of  the  west ;  the  secluded  and  monotonous  life  increas- 
ing the  intensity  of  jealousies  and  ambitions.  Those  jewelled 
heads  in  their  perfumed  prison  agitated  alike  court,  divan,  and 
the  entire  Seraglio.  The  eunuchs  served  as  means  of  communi- 
cation with  muftis,  viziers,  and  agas  of  the  janissaries.  They 
were  aware  of  everything  that  went  on  in  the  empire  and  the 
metropolis,  they  knew  the  dangers  that  threatened  them,  they 
learned  to  know  the  statesmen  whom  they  had  to  fear,  or  in 
whom  they  might  hope,  and  they  patiently  organized  mysterious 
plots  that  pulled  down  their  enemies,  and  elevated  their  protec- 
tors. All  the  different  parties  of  the  court  and  empire  had  a 
root,  many  roots  there,  in  the  hearts  of  the  Valide  Sultanas,  the 
sisters  of  the  Sultan,  his  wives,  and  his  odalisques.  There  were 
questions  and  discussions  without  and  about  the  education  of 


THE   OLD   SERAGLIO.  2%J 

children,  the  marriage  of  daughters,  precedence  at  feasts,  the 
succession  of  the  young  princes  to  the  throne,  about  peace  and 
about  war.  The  caprices  of  the  ladies  of  the  harem  sent 
thirty  thousand  janissaries  and  forty  thousand  spahis  to  cover 
with  corpses  the  shores  of  the  Danube,  and  fleets  of  a  hundred 
ships  to  stain  with  blood  the  Black  Sea  and  the  Archipelago. 
The  princes  of  Europe  sent  secret  letters  to  them,  to  ensure  a 
good  result  for  their  negotiations.  From  their  white  hands 
issued  the  decrees  that  gave  the  government  of  provinces  and 
the  high  grades  of  the  army.  It  is  the  caresses  of  Roxalana 
that  tighten  the  bow-string  at  the  necks  of  the  Grand  Viziers 
Ahmed  and  Ibrahim  ;  it  is  the  kisses  of  Saffle,  the  beautiful 
Venetian,  '■'•pearl  and  shell  of  the  Caliphat"  which  maintain  for 
so  many  years  amicable  relations  between  the  Porte  and  the 
Venetian  republic.  The  seven  wives  {cadine)  of  Murad  Third, 
governed  the  empire  for  the  last  twenty  years  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  The  beautiful  Makpicker,  the  moon  formed,  the  cadina 
of  the  two  thousand  seven  hundred  shawls,  reigned  over  the  two 
seas  and  two  worlds  from  Ahmed  First  to  the  Fourth  Mahomet. 
Rebia  Gulnuz,  the  odalisque  of  the  hundred  silver  carriages, 
directed  the  imperial  divans  in  the  first  ten  years  of  the  second 
half  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  Scekerbuli,  the  little  bit  of 
sugar,  made  the  sanguinary  Ibrahim  travel  up  and  down  for  her 
pleasure  between  Stamboul  and  Adrianople. 

Fearful  nights  of  terror  and  despair,  came  also  for  the  little 
Babylon  hidden  among  the  flowers.  Rebellion  had  no  more 
respect  for  the  third  enclosure  than  it  had  for  the  first  and  sec- 
ond. The  soldiery  broke  in  at  the  Felicity  gate,  and  invaded 
the  harem      In  vain  the  eunuchs  defended  with  their  daggers 


288  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

the  sacred  thresholds.  The  janissaries  climbed  upon  the  roofs, 
broke  through  the  cupolas,  and  precipitating  themselves  into 
the  rooms,  tore  the  princes  from  their  mothers'  arms.  The 
Valide  Sultanas  were  dragged  by  the  feet,  out  of  their  hiding 
places,  defending  themselves  with  tooth  and  nail,  and  being 
thrown  backwards  over  the  knees  of  the  baltag),  were  strangled 
with  the  curtain  cords.  The  younger,  rushing  back  into  their 
apartments,  gave  despairing  shrieks  at  the  sight  of  the  empty 
cradles,  and  the  trembling  slaves  maintained  an  awful  silence, 
which  meant : — "  Go  and  seek  your  children  at  the  foot  of  the 
throne."  Dismayed  eunuchs  came  to  announce  to  the  favorites, 
weakened  by  a  distant  tumult,  that  their  heads  were  demanded, 
and  that  they  must  prepare  to  die.  The  three  wives  of  the 
Third  Selim,  condemned  to  the  sack  and  cord,  heard  in  the 
night  each  other's  mortal  shrieks,  and  died  under  the  hands  of 
mutes.  Horrible  jealousies  and  horrid  vengeance  made  the 
kiosks  resound  with  groans  and  cries  that  spread  alarm  through- 
out the  harem.  The  Circassian  mother  of  Mustapha  tore 
Roxalana's  face  with  her  nails,  the  rival  favorites  slapped  Sce- 
kerbuli,  the  Sultana  Tarchan  saw  the  dagger  of  Mahomet 
Fourth  flash  above  the  heads  of  her  little  ones,  the  wife  of 
Ahmed  First  with  her  own  hands  choked  her  rival,  and  was  her- 
self poniarded  in  the  face,  and  struck  down  under  the  feet  of 
the  Padishah  ;  and  who  knows  how  many  crimes  remain  forever 
unknown  !  Their  veils  smother  their  cries,  flowers  hide  the 
blood,  two  shadows  flit  through  the  dark  alleys  of  the  garden 
bearing  a  dark  burden  between  them ;  the  sentinels  upon  the 
towers  hear  a  splash  in  the  water,  and  one  of  the  thousand 
chambers  of  the  smiling  and  luxurious  harem  is  empty. 


THE   OLD   SERAGLIO.  289 

All  these  images  came  to  my  mind  as  I  wandered  through 
the  enclosure  and  raised  my  eyes  to  the  grated  windows  of  the 
desolate  kiosks,  sad  as  tombs.  And,  in  the  midst  of  these 
sinister  memories,  I  was  aware  of  a  kind  of  pleasant  trepida- 
tion, as  if  at  any  moment  some  one  of  those  beautiful  and 
famous  women  might  appear  before  me,  flitting  through  the 
garden  alley,  or  glancing  from  the  latticed  window.  I  felt  an  im- 
pulse to  speak  aloud  those  memorable  names,  listening  for  some 
faint  and  distant  response,  or  beholding  a  white  veiled  form 
dimly  in  the  deserted  grove  of  trees.  I  would  have  given  some- 
thing to  know  where  had  been  the  apartment  of  the  widow  of 
Alexis  Comnenus,  the  loveliest  Greek  woman  of  her  time,  and 
where  the  daughter  of  Erizzo,  Governor  of  Negropont,  had  been 
stabbed  to  death  for  refusing  the  caresses  of  Mahomet  the 
Second,  and  where  Currem,  the  favorite  of  Soliman,  had  stood, 
when  looking  from  her  window  at  the  Sea  of  Marmora  with  her 
wonderful  black  eyes,  veiled  by  long  silken  fringes.  Here  in 
this  path  had  the  lovely  Hungarian  dancer,  who  stole  from  Saffie 
the  heart  of  Murad  Third,  left  no  trace  of  her  light  feet  ?  And 
from  this  flower  bed  had  Kesem,  the  beautiful  and  fierce  Greek, 
with  pallid  and  melancholy  visage,  never  culled  a  blossom  ? 
The  gigantic  Armenian  woman  who  drove  Ibrahim  frantic  with 
love,  had  she  never  dipped  her  great  white  arm  in  this  fountain  ? 
Was  there  nothing  of  them  left,  not  a  tress  of  hair,  not  a  shred 
of  a  veil,  not  a  mark  upon  the  wall?  My  fancies  ended  in  a 
painful  and  terrible  vision.  I  saw  them  pass  in  interminable 
procession,  far  off,  among  the  trees  and  under  the  long  colon- 
ades,  one  behind  the  other,  Sultanas,  wives  and  sisters,  cadine, 
odalisques,  slaves,  budding  girls  and  blooming  matrons,  old 
13 


29O  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

white-haired  women,  timid  virginal  faces,  and  faces  fierce  and 
terrible  with  jealous  rage,  Imperial  ladies,  favorites  of  an  hour, 
with  their  strangled  infants  in  their  arms  or  led  by  the  hand ; 
one  with  a  bowstring  at  his  neck,  another  with  a  dagger  in  his 
heart,  a  third  dripping  from  the  sea ;  splendid  with  gems,  or 
covered  with  wounds  and  blood  ;  mute  and  frail  phantoms,  they 
passed  and  were  lost  in  the  darkness  of  the  shaded  alleys,  leaving 
behind  them  a  trace  of  trodden  flowers  and  drops  of  tears  and 
blood  ;  and  my  soul  was  filled  with  a  great  compassion. 

Beyond  the  third  enclosure  extends  a  flat  piece  of  ground, 
covered  with  a  luxuriant  vegetation,  and  dotted  with  small  edi- 
fices, among  which  rises  the  so-called  column  of  Theodosius,  in 
grey  granite,  surmounted  by  a  handsome  Corinthian  capital, 
and  with  a  large  pedestal  on  which  can  be  read  the  final  words 
of  a  Latin  inscription: — "Fortunes  reduci  ob  devictus  Gothos." 
And  here  ends  the  high  plain  on  which  the  great  central  rec- 
tangle of  the  Seraglio  buildings  stands.  From  this  to  Seraglio 
Point  descends  a  series  of  luxuriant  terraced  gardens,  full  of  rare 
trees  and  flowering  plants  of  every  kind,  with  flights  of  marble 
steps  leading  to  the  sea. 

Along  the  wall  opposite  to  Scutari  was  the  new  palace  of 
Sultan  Mahmoud,  which  had  one  great  door  of  gilded  copper 
opening  on  the  sea.  Near  Seraglio  Point  was  the  summer 
harem,  a  vast  semicircular  building  capable  of  accommodating 
five  hundred  women,  with  vast  courts  and  splendid  baths,  and 
gardens  where  those  feasts  known  as  the  "  Feasts  of  Tulips  " 
were  celebrated.  In  front  of  this  harem,  outside  the  wall  on 
the  shore,  was  the  famous  Seraglio  battery,  composed  of  twenty 
cannon  of  strange  forms,  and  much  carved  and  ornamented, 


THE   OLD   SERAGLIO.  2QI 

taken  from  the  Christian  armies  in  the  first  European  wars. 
The  walls  had  eight  gates,  three  on  the  city  side,  and  five  to- 
wards the  sea.  Great  marble  terraces  projected  from  the  walls 
over  the  sea.  Subterranean  roads  led  to  the  sea  gates,  so  that 
the  Sultan  could  escape  secretly  in  case  of  assault,  and  reach 
Scutari  or  Top-hane.  There  were,  besides,  a  host  of  kiosks 
and  buildings  of  various  sorts  on  the  flanks  of  the  hill  and  near 
the  external  walls.  There  near  the  summit  harem  stood  the 
kiosk  of  the  mirrors,  where  the  treaty  of  peace  of  1784  was 
signed,  by  which  Turkey  ceded  the  Crimea  to  Russia.  The 
kiosk  of  the  cannon,  from  whose  windows  corpses  were  cast 
into  the  sea,  stood  near  the  battery.  The  kiosk  of  the  sea,  where 
the  Sultana  Valide  of  Mahomet  Fourth  held  her  secret  divans, 
hung  over  the  mingled  currents  of  the  Bosphorus  and  the  Sea 
of  Marmora.  At  that  angle  of  the  wall  nearest  to  Saint  Sophia 
was  the  kiosk  of  Alai,  from  which  Mahomet  Fourth  threw  his 
favorite  wife  Meleki  to  the  rebellious  army,  and  twenty-nine  court 
officials  besides,  who  were  torn  to  pieces  under  his  eyes. 

The  night  is  half  spent ;  the  sea  reflects  the  sky  burning 
with  stars ;  the  moon  silvers  the  hundred  domes  of  the  Seraglio 
and  whitens  the  tops  of  cypresses*  and  plane  trees,  and  the  in- 
numerable lighted  windows  one  by  one  are  darkened.  The 
imperial  city  sleeps.     .     .     . 

And  so  for  thirty  years  it  has  slept,  abandoned  on  its  sol- 
itary hill ;  and  the  verses  of  the  Persian  poet  that  were  on  the 
lips  of  Mahomet  the  Conqueror  when  he  first  placed  his  foot 
within  those  desecrated  halls,  might  be  again  repeated: — "The 
unclean  spider  weaves  her  web  in  the  halls  of  kings,  and  from 
the  proud  peaks  of  Erasciab,  the  raven  croaks  his  fatal  chant." 


292  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


LAST   DAYS. 

At  this  point  the  chain  of  my  minute  and  lucid  reminis- 
cences is  broken,  and  I  can  no  longer  describe  at  length ;  I  re- 
member nothing  but  a  series  of  hurried  expeditions  from  one  shore 
to  the  other,  after  which,  in  the  evening,  there  passed  before 
my  mind  as  in  a  dream,  the  illuminated  city,  immense  throngs 
of  people,  groves,  fleets,  hills,  and  the  thought  of  my  approach- 
ing departure  gave  to  everything  a  slight  coloring  of  sadness, 
as  if  those  visions  were  already  only  memories  of  distant 
countries. 

And  yet  some  images  remain  immovable  in  the  midst  of 
the  mist  of  people  and  things  that  ever  rises  before  me  when  I 
think  of  those  days. 

I  recall  the  lovely  morning  when  I  visited  the  greater  part 
of  the  imperial  mosques,  and  again  I  seem  to  see  around  me 
an  immensity  of  silent  space.  The  image  of  Saint  Sophia  in 
no  way  lessens  the  wonder  excited  by  the  first  entrance  within 
those  titanic  walls.  There,  as  elsewhere,  the  religion  of  the 
conquerors  has  appropriated  the  religious  art  of  the  conquered. 
Almost  all  the  mosques  are  imitated  from  the  Basilica  of  Jus- 
tinian ;  they  have  the  great  dome,  the  half  domes  beneath,  the 
courts  and  porticoes ;  some  even  have  the  form  of  a  Greek 
cross.  But  Islamism  has  spread  over  everything  its  own  color 
and  light,  so  that  the  mass  presents  the  appearance  of  a  new 


LAST  DAYS.  293 

edifice,  in  which  are  seen  the  horizons  of  an  unknown  world, 
and  the  presence  cf  another  God  is  felt.  They  are  enormous 
naves  of  austere  and  grand  simplicity,  all  white,  and  with  many 
windows,  that  diffuse  an  equal  and  soft  light,  in  which  the  eye 
discerns  every  object  from  one  extremity  to  the  other,  and  re- 
poses, with  the  thought,  in  a  soft,  sleepy  tranquillity,  like  that 
of  a  snowy  valley  covered  by  a  white  sky.  You  hear  the  sono- 
rous echo  of  your  own  footsteps  and  know  by  that  alone  that 
you  are  in  an  enclosed  place.  There  is  nothing  to  distract  the 
mind,  which  darts  at  once  across  that  white  space  to  the  object 
of  adoration.  There  is  no  argument  either  for  melancholy  or 
terror  ;  there  are  neither  illusions,  nor  mysteries,  nor  obscure 
corners,  in  which  shine  vaguely  the  images  of  a  complicated 
hierarchy  of  superhuman  beings  that  confound  the  senses; 
there  is  nothing  but  the  clear,  perfect,  and  formidable  idea  of 
one  solitary  God,  who  loves  the  severe  nudity  of  the  desert  in- 
undated with  light,  and  admits  no  other  image  of  himself  than 
the  heavens.  All  the  imperial  mosques  of  Constantinople 
present  the  same  aspect  of  naked  grandeur  and  simplicity,  so 
that  it  is  difficult  in  recalling  them  to  distinguish  one  from  the 
other.  The  mosque  of  Ahmed,  enormous,  but  also  light  and 
graceful  without  as  an  aerial  edifice,  has  its  dome  upheld  by 
four  measureless  round  pilasters  of  white  marble,  and  is  the 
only  one  in  Stamboul  that  has  six  minarets.  The  mosque  of 
Soliman,  which  is  a  sacred  city  more  than  a  temple,  in  which 
the  stranger  loses  himself,  is  formed  of  three  naves,  and  its 
dome,  higher  than  that  of  Saint  Sophia,  rests  on  four  wonderful 
columns  of  rose  granite  that  remind  one  of  the  trunks  of  the 
famous  gigantic  trees  of  California.     The  mosque  of  Mahomet 


294  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

is  another  Saint  Sophia,  white  and  cheerful ;  that  of  Bajazet  is 
the  most  elegant  in  form  ;  that  of  Osman  is  all  of  marble  ;  and 
that  of  Shah  Zada  has  the  most  graceful  minarets.  Each  has 
its  own  peculiar  beauty,  or  legend,  or  privilege.  Sultan  Ahmed 
has  the  custody  of  the  Standard  of  the  Prophet:  Solimanie 
boasts  the  inscription  of  Kara-hissari ;  Valide  Sultan  has  the 
false  golden  column  that  cost  the  life  of  the  conqueror  of  Can- 
dia  j  Sultan  Mehemet  sees  "  eleven  imperial  mosques  bow  their 
heads  around  him,  as  around  Joseph's  sheaf  bowed  the  sheaves 
of  his  brothers."  In  one  are  the  columns  of  the  Palace  of 
Justinian,  and  those  that  bore  the  statues  of  Venus,  Theodora, 
and  Eudosia ;  in  others  are  found  the  marbles  of  the  ancient 
churches  of  Calcedonia,  columns  from  the  ruins  of  Troy,  and 
from  Egyptian  temples,  remains  of  circus  and  forum,  aqueduct 
and  basilica ;  all  confused  and  lost  in  the  immense  whiteness 
of  the  mosques  of  Islam. 

Within,  the  differences  are  slighter  than  in  the  exterior.  At 
the  end  there  is  a  marble  pulpit ;  opposite  to  it  the  Sultan's 
balcony,  latticed  and  gilded  ;  beside  the  Mihrab  two  enormous 
candelabra  sustaining  torches  tall  as  palm  trees  ;  and  all  about 
the  nave  innumerable  lights  with  glass  globes,  disposed  irregu- 
larly, and  looking  more  like  preparations  for  a  ball,  than  for 
religious  solemnity.  The  sacred  inscriptions  that  run  round  the 
pilasters,  the  doors,  and  the  windows  of  the  domes,  and  a  sort 
of  imitation  frieze  painted  to  represent  marble,  are  the  only 
ornaments  that  stand  out  upon  the  naked  whiteness  of  those 
monumental  walls.  Treasures  of  marble  are  in  the  pavements 
of  the  vestibules,  porticoes,  fountains,  and  minarets  ;  but  they 
in  no  way  alter  the  austere  and  sober,  though  graceful  charac- 


LAST  DA  VS.  295 

ter  of  the  edifice,  white,  set  in  verdure,  and  crowned  by  domes 
glittering  against  the  azure  of  the  sky.  The  mosque  occupies 
only  a  part  of  the  enclosure,  which  embraces  a  labyrinth  of 
courts  and  houses.  There  are  auditoriums  for  the  reading  of 
the  Koran,  places  of  deposit  for  the  safe  keeping  of  private 
property,  libraries  and  academies,  schools  of  medicine  and 
schools  for  children,  kitchens  for  the  poor,  infirmaries,  refuges 
for  travellers,  baths  ;  a  small  town,  hospitable  and  beneficent, 
gathered  around  the  lofty  mole  of  the  temple,  as  at  the  foot  of  a 
mountain,  and  all  shaded  by  great  trees.  But  all  these  objects 
are  but  dim  in  my  memory  ;  and  I  see  nothing  but  the  small 
black  point  made  by  my  own  person,  lost,  like  an  atom,  in  those 
enormous  buildings,  in  the  midst  of  long  files  of  tiny  prostrate 
Turks  at  their  prayers. 

The  reminiscences  of  another  day  are  all  dark,  and  full  of 
mystery  and  phantasms.  I  entered  the  court  of  a  Mussulman 
house,  descended  by  the  light  of  a  torch  a  steep  and  damp 
staircase,  and  found  myself  under  the  vault  of  Kere-batan 
Serai,  the  great  cistern-basilica  of  Constantine,  of  which  the  vul- 
gar believe  that  the  real  extent  has  never  been  known.  The 
greenish  waters  lose  themselves  under  the  black  arches,  touched 
here  and  there  by  a  livid  ray  of  light  that  adds  to  the  horror  of 
the  darkness.  The  torch  threw  a  red  gleam  upon  the  arches 
near  the  door,  and  revealed  dimly  the  dripping  walls  and  the 
confused  groups  of  columns  everywhere,  like  trunks  of  trees  in 
a  thick  forest.  The  fancy  loses  itself  among  those  sepulchral 
porticoes,  hovering  above  the  gloomy  waters,  while  the  dragoman 
in  a  low  voice  tells  the  terrible  tale  of  those  who  have  ventured 
to  explore  those  subterranean  solitudes  in  a  boat,  hoping  to 


296  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

discover  the  extent  of  them,  and  how,  after  many  hours,  they 
return  desperately  rowing,  with  hair  on  end,  and  faces  transfig- 
ured with  horror,  while  the  distant  vaults  echo  with  loud 
laughter  and  demoniac  noises  ;  and  of  others  who  never  came 
back,  but  ended,  no  one  knows  how,  driven  mad  perhaps  with 
terror,  or  dead  of  hunger,  or  drawn  into  some  unknown  abyss 
by  the  mysterious  current,  far  from  Stamboul,  God  alone  knows 
where.  This  lugubrious  vision  vanished  suddenly  in  the  broad 
light  of  the  square  of  the  Et-Meidan,  and  a  few  minutes  after  I 
was  again  underground  among  the  two  hundred  pillars  of  the 
dry  cistern,  called  Bin-birdirck,  where  many  Greek  workmen 
are  weaving  silk,  lighted  by  some  pallid  rays  that  filter  down 
through  the  arches,  and  all  singing  in  shrill  voices,  a  warlike 
ditty.  Above  my  head  I  could  hear  the  confused  noise  of  a 
caravan  passing.  Then  once  more  the  sunshine  and  the  open 
air,  and  again  a  descent  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  more  dark- 
ness and  columns  and  the  faint  sound  of  distant  voices,  and  so 
on  until  evening,  a  mysterious  and  pensive  pilgrimage,  after 
which  there  remained  before  the  eyes  of  my  imagination  a  vast 
subterranean  lake,  in  which  had  sunk  and  vanished  the  metrop- 
olis of  the  empire  of  the  Greeks,  and  where  Stamboul,  smiling 
and  careless,  would  one  day  disappear  in  her  turn. 

The  darkness  gives  place  to  -the  splendid  image  of  Scutari. 
Scutari  delighted  me  with  her  sudden  changes  of  aspect  as  you 
approach  in  a  steamboat.  From  the  Sea  of  Marmora  she  looks 
like  a  big  village  spreading  over  a  hill ;  but  seen  from  the 
Golden  Horn,  she  shows  herself  a  city.  As  the  steamboat 
rounds  the  point  of  the  Asiatic  shore,  Scutari  seems  to  rise  and 
grow  before  you  ;  the  hills  crowned  with  buildings  appear  one 


LAST  DAYS.  2gj 

behind  the  other  ;  suburbs  are  seen  in  the  valleys,  villas  smile 
on  the  heights  ;  the  enormous  city  has  a  theatrical  air  of  pomp 
and  reveals  herself  as  if  by  the  rising  of  a  curtain.  Another 
day  we  took  the  tramway,  and,  seated  between  two  tall  black 
eunuchs  who  had  been  detailed  for  our  service,  went  to  see  the 
palace  of  Ceragan,  planted  on  the  shore  of  the  Bosphorus.  I 
remember  the  indefinable  sentiment  of  curiosity  and  repulsion 
that  possessed  me,  as  I  looked  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  at 
the  eunuch  next  to  me,  who  towered  above  me  by  a  whole  head, 
and  held  his  immense  hands  spread  out  upon  his  knees  ;  exhal- 
ing all  the  time  a  powerful  perfume  of  bergamot  from  his  cour- 
tier-like apparel.  When  we  stopped,  and  I  put  my  hand  in  my 
pocket  to  get  my  fiortemonnaie,  one  of  those  monstrous  hands 
seized  me  by  the  arm  like  an  iron  pincers,  and  his  great  black 
eyes  looked  into  mine,  as  if  to  say  : — "  Christian,  do  not  affront 
me,  or  I  will  dislocate  your  bones  !"  We  came  to  a  small 
arabesqued  door,  went  through  a  long  corridor,  where  a  number 
of  servants  in  livery  came  to  meet  us,  and  exchanging  our  boots 
for  slippers,  ascended  a  grand  staircase  that  led  to  a  royal  hall. 
There  was  no  need  to  evoke  the  memories  of  the  past,  for  the 
air  was  yet  warm  with  the  presence  of  the  court.  The  broad 
divans  covered  with  velvet  and  silk,  that  ran  along  the  walls, 
were  the  same  where  only  a  few  days  before  the  ladies  of  the 
harem  had  been  seated.  A  vague  perfume  of  that  soft  and 
luxurious  existence  still  pervaded  the  place.  We  passed 
through  numerous  rooms,  decorated  in  a  mixed  European  and 
Moorish  style,  and  with  a  certain  superb  simplicity  that  made 
one  lower  one's  voice.  The  eunuchs  muttering  some  incompre- 
hensible explanation,  pointed  out  doors  and  corners,  with  ges- 
13* 


298  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

tures  which  seemed  to  indicate  some  mystery.  Nothing  how- 
ever of  all  the  splendor  remains  in  my  memory  except  the  Sul- 
tan's baths,  made  of  whitest  marble,  sculptured  with  pendent 
flowers  and  stalactites,  and  decorated  with  fringes  and  delicate 
embroideries,  that  one  feared  to  touch,  so  fragile  did  they  seem. 
The  disposition  of  the  rooms  reminded  me  vaguely  of  the 
Alhambra.  Our  steps  made  no  sound  upon  the  rich  carpets 
spread  everywhere.  Now  and  then,  a  eunuch  pulled  a  cord, 
and  a  green  curtain  rose  and  displayed  the  Bosphorus,  Asia,  a 
thousand  ships,  a  great  light ;  and  then  all  vanished  again,  as 
in  a  flash  of  lightning.  The  rooms  seemed  endless,  and  as  each 
door  appeared  we  hastened  our  steps,  but  a  profound  silence 
reigned  in  every  part,  and  there  was  no  vestige  of  any  living 
being,  nor  no  rustle  of  garment,  save  the  sound  made  by  the 
silken  door  curtains  as  they  fell  behind.  At  last  we  were  weary 
of  that  endless  journey  from  one  splendid  empty  room  to 
another,  seeing  ourselves  reflected  in  great  mirrors,  with  the 
black  faces  of  our  guides,  and  the  group  of  silent  servants,  and 
were  thankful  to  find  ourselves  again  in  the  free  air,  in  the 
midst  of  the  ragged,  noisy  denizens  of  Top-hane. 

The  necropolis  of  Eyub  is  not  to  be  forgotten.  We  went 
there  one  evening  at  sunset,  and  it  remains  in  my  memory  as  I 
•then  saw  it,  illuminated  by  the  last  rays  of  the  sun.  A  caique 
brought  us  to  the  end  of  the  Golden  Horn  and  we  ascended  to 
the  "  Holy  land  "  of  the  Osma'nle  by  a  steep  path  bordered  with 
tombs.  At  that  hour  the  place  was  deserted.  We  went  onward 
with  circumspection,  looking  about  us  for  the  severe  visage  of 
an  imaum  or  a  dervish,  because  the  profane  curiosity  of  &  giaour 
is  not  tolerated  in  that  place.      But  we  saw  neither  conical  hat 


LAST  DA  YS.  299 

nor  turban.  With  some  trepidation  we  arrived  at  that  mysteri- 
ous mosque  of  Eyub,  which  we  had  so  often  seen  from  the  hills 
of  the  opposite  shore,  with  its  light  and  glittering  minarets.  In 
the  court,  shaded  by  a  great  plane  tree,  is  the  mausoleum  of 
the  famous  standard-bearer  of  the  Prophet,  who  died  with  the 
first  Mussulmans  before  Byzantium,  and  his  body  being  found 
eight  centuries  after  by  Mahomet  the  Conqueror,  was  by  him 
entombed  in  this  place.  The  mosque  is  consecrated  to  him,  and 
here  the  Padishah  comes  to  solemnly  assume  the  sword  of  Oth- 
man  :  for  this  is  the  most  sacred  of  the  mosques  of  Constanti- 
nople, and  the  cemetery  that  surrounds  it  is  the  holiest  of  all 
cemeteries.  Sultans,  viziers,  and  grandees  of  all  ranks  lie  here, 
their  monuments  surrounded  with  flowers,  and  splendid  with 
marbles  and  arabesques  of  gold,  and  pompous  inscriptions.  A 
little  apart  is  the  mortuary  temple  of  the  muftis,  surmounted  by 
a  great  octagon  dome  under  which  repose  the  high  priests  in 
enormous  black  catafalques,  with  lofty  muslin  turbans  upon  them. 
It  is  an  aristocratic  quarter  of  tombs,  lying  in  proud  silence,  and 
shaded  by  a  multitude  of  branching  acacias,  oaks,  and  myrtles. 
All  this  disappears,  and  I  find  myself  walking  through  long 
naked  chambers,  between  two  ranks  of  motionless  figures,  look- 
ing like  corpses  nailed  to  the  wall.  The  only  similar  impression 
that  I  can  recall  was  when  I  entered  the  last  room  of  the 
Tussaud  exhibition  in  London,  and  saw  the  effigies  of  all  the 
most  horrible  assassins  that  had  ever  lived  in  England.  A 
museum  of  spectres,  or  rather  an  open  sepulchre  in  which  lay 
the  mummies  of  the  most  famous  personages  of  old  Turkey, 
splendid,  extravagant  and  ferocious,  as  they  exist  in  the  imagi- 
nations of  poets.     There  are  hundreds  of  great  wooden  images, 


300  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

dressed  in  ancient  costumes,  erect,  in  rigid  and  haughty  atti- 
tudes, with  staring  eyes,  and  hands  on  their  swords,  as  if  they 
awaited  only  a  sign,  to  draw  and  fall  on,  as  in  the  good  old 
time.  First  comes  the  household  of  the  Padishah  ;  the  grand 
eunuch,  the  grand  vizier,  the  mufti,  chamberlains  and  grand 
officials,  their  heads  covered  with  turbans  of  every  color  and 
form  and  size,  pyramidal,  spherical,  square  and  prodigious,  with 
brocaded  caftans  richly  embroidered,  with  tunics  of  white  and 
crimson  silk,  bound  at  the  waist  with  cashmere  shawls,  and  with 
their  breasts  covered  with  gold  and  silver,  and  their  girdles  full 
of  jewelled  weapons  ;  two  long  files  of  strange  and  splendid  scare- 
crows, admirably  revealing  the  barbaric  splendor  and  sumptu- 
ousness  of  the  antique  Ottoman  court.  Then  come  the  pages 
who  carry  the  Grand  Signor's  fur  mantle,  his  turban,  his  foot- 
stool, and  his  sword.  Then  guards  of  different  kinds,  white  and 
black  eunuchs,  like  idols  or  magi,  glittering  and  plumed,  their 
heads  covered  with  Persian  caps,  metal  helmets,  and  every  kind 
of  strange  head  gear  shaped  like  half- moons,  cones  and  in- 
verted pyramids  ;  and  armed  with  steel  rods,  poniards,  and 
whips,  a  most  truculent  and  ferocious  band.  Finally,  the  corps 
of  janissaries,  with  its  holy  patron,  Emin-baba,  worn  to  a  skele- 
ton, in  a  white  tunic,  and  officials  of  all  grades  in  the  various 
offices  of  the  kitchen,  and  soldiers  of  every  class,  with  all  the 
emblems  and  devices  of  that  insolent  army  that  Mahmoud's 
grape-shot  exterminated.  The  wildest  imagination  could  form 
no  idea  of  the  mad  confusion  of  costumes  of  king,  priest,  and 
brigand  that  make  up  a  sort  of  ferocious  pantomime  {pctgli- 
acciatd).  The  "water  bearers,"  the  "preparers  of  soup,"  the 
"superior  cooks,"  the  "chiefs  of  the  scullions,"   and  soldiers 


LAST  DAYS.  301 

of  different  special  functions  succeed  each  other  in  endless  file, 
with  brooms  and  spoons  in  their  turbans,  with  bells  attached  to 
their  tunics,  with  the  famous  pots  that  gave  the  signal  for  re- 
volt, with  great  tall  caps  of  skin,  and  flowing  mantles  from  neck 
to  heel,  with  wide  girdles  of  carved  metal,  and  gigantic  sabres. 
Last  of  all  came  the  mutes  of  the  Seraglio,  with  the  silken  bow- 
string in  their  hands,  and  the  dwarfs  and  buffoons  in  every  va- 
riety of  hideous  visage  and  grotesque  hat.  The  great  glass 
cases  which  shut  in  all  these  figures,  give  to  the  place  a  certain 
look  as  of  an  anatomical  museum,  that  adds  to  their  corpse-like 
appearance.  When  you  have  reached  the  end  you  feel  as  if  you 
had  passed  through  a  room  in  the  old  Seraglio,  and  had  seen 
the  whole  court,  frozen  with  terror  at  a  look  of  menace  from  the 
Padishah.  To  come  out  into  the  square  of  the  Et-Meidan  and 
meet  the  Pashas  in  their  black  coats,  and  the  nizams  modestly 
dressed  in  zouave  costume,  is  to  be  struck  with  the  meekness  and 
harmlessness  of  the  Turkey  of  our  day. 

A  firman  opened  for  us  the  mausoleum  of  Mahmoud  the 
Reformer,  standing  not  far  from  the  Et-Meidan  in  a  garden  of 
roses  and  jasmine.  It  is  a  beautiful  white  marble  temple,  of 
hexagon  shape,  with  a  dome  sustained  by  Ionic  pillars  and 
lighted  by  seven  windows,  each  looking  into  one  of  the  principal 
streets  of  Stamboul.  The  interior  walls  are  ornamented  with 
bas-reliefs  and  decorated  with  carpets  of  brocaded  silk.  In  the 
middle  rises  the  sarcophagus  covered  with  beautiful  Persian 
shawls ;  and  upon  it  is  a  fez,  emblem  of  reform,  with  its  erect 
plume  sparkling  with  diamonds.  Around  the  sarcophagus  is  a 
graceful  balustrade  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl,  which  encloses 
four  silver  candelabra.     The  coffins  of  seven  Sultanas  stand 


302  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

along  the  walls.  Rich  mats  and  carpets  of  various  colors  cover 
the  floor.  Here  and  there  upon  elegant  lecterns  sparkle  pre- 
cious Korans,  written  in  letters  of  gold.  In  a  silver  casket 
there  is  a  long  roll  of  muslin  covered  with  minute  Arabic  char- 
acters, traced  by  the  hand  of  Mahmoud,  when  a  prisoner  in 
the  old  Seraglio,  before  ascending  the  throne.  He  ordained 
that  this  record  of  his  youth,  (a  copy  of  the  Koran)  should  be 
preserved  near  his  tomb. 

Among  the  images  of  those  days  come  the  Dervishes ;  and 
the  most  famous  of  the  thirty-two  orders,  the  mevlevi,  have  a 
notable  tekke  in  the  street  of  Pera.  I  went  prepared  to  see  the 
luminous  visages  of  saints,  rapt  in  visions  of  Paradise.  But  I 
was  under  a  great  delusion.  The  famous  divine  fury  of  the 
dance  seemed  to  me  only  a  theatrical  representation.  They 
are  certainly  very  curious  to  behold,  as  they  enter  the  circular 
mosque,  one  behind  the  other,  wrapped  in  large  brown  cloaks, 
their  heads  bent  down,  their  arms  concealed,  accompanied  by 
barbaric  music,  monotonous  and  sweet,  resembling  the  sound 
of  the  wind  in  the  cypresses  of  the  cemeteries.  And  when  they 
whirl  round,  and  bow  themselves  two  by  two  before  the  Mirab, 
their  movement  is  so  languid  and  majestic  that  you  have  a  sud- 
den doubt  as  to  their  sex.  Also  it  is  fine  when  they  throw  off 
their  mantles  with  a  rapid  gesture,  and  appearing  in  their  long 
white  woollen  tunics,  open  their  arms  and  throw  back  their 
heads,  and  one  after  the  other  begins  to  spin  as  if  launched  by 
an  invisible  hand ;  and  when  they  spin  all  together  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  mosque,  white,  light,  and  rapid,  with  flying  garments 
and  half-closed  eyes,  and  when  they  fall  upon  the  pavement  as 
if  all  struck  down  at  once  by  some  superhuman  apparition, 


LAST  DAYS.  303 

with  a  great  cry  of  Allah,  and  when  they  begin  again,  bowing 
and  kissing  their  hands,  and  moving  round  about  the  mosque 
in  a  sort  of  grave  and  graceful  half  walk,  half  dance.  But  the 
ecstasy,  the  transfigured  and  rapt  faces,  that  so  many  travellers 
see,  I  did  not  see.  I  saw  only  a  number  of  agile  and  indefat- 
igable dancers  going  through  their  business  with  supreme  indif- 
ference. I  saw  suppressed  laughter ;  and  one  young  dervish 
exceedingly  well-pleased  at  being  stared  at  fixedly  by  an  Eng- 
lish lady ;  and  I  caught  several  of  them  in  the  act  of  biting 
when  they  should  have  kissed  their  neighbor's  hand,  who  in  his 
turn  retorted  with  a  pinch.  Oh  !  the  hypocrites  !  What  I  did 
see  among  those  men,  and  they  were  of  all  ages  and  aspects 
was  a  grace  and  elegance  of  movement  that  might  well  be  en- 
vied by  some  of  our  drawing-room  dancers ;  and  which  is  cer- 
tainly a  natural  gift  of  the  Oriental  races,  due  to  the  structure 
of  their  bodies.  I  observed  it  still  more  one  day  when  we 
were  able  to  penetrate  into  a  cell  of  the  tekke,  and  see  a  der- 
vish in  the  act  of  dressing  for  his  functions.  He  was  a  tall, 
slender,  beardless  youth,  with  a  girlish  face.  He  drew  in  the 
girdle  of  his  white  petticoat,  looking  at  himself  in  the  glass, 
and  turning  to  smile  at  us;  he  measured  his  waist  with  his 
hands,  arranging  himself  in  all  haste,  but  with  care  and  with 
an  artistic  eye,  and  seeing  to  every  part  of  his  dress,  like  a  lady 
giving  the  last  touches  to  her  costume.  Seen  from  behind, 
he  was  not  unlike  a  girl  dressing  for  a  ball — and  he  was  a 
monk ! " 


304  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


THE  TURKS. 

Now,  before  going  on  board  of  the  Austrian  steamer  that 
lies  in  the  Golden  Horn  ready  to  leave  for  the  Black  Sea,  it  is 
incumbent  upon  me  to  set  down  modestly,  as  from  a  poor  trav- 
eller's point  of  view,  some  general  observations  that  will  respond 
to  the  question  : — ' '  What  did  you  think  of  the  Turks  ?"  Ob- 
servations, for  the  rest,  spontaneous,  and  free  from  any  consider- 
ations of  recent  events,  gathered  up  here  and  there  in  my  rec- 
ollections of  those  days.  At  those  words  : — "  What  did  you 
think  of  the  Turks  ?"  the  impression  produced  in  me  by  the  first 
aspect  of  the  male  population  of  Stamboul,  revives  at  once. 
Taking  no  count  of  the  physical  differences,  it  is  an  impression 
quite  different  from  that  produced  by  the  people  of  any  other 
country  in  Europe.  One  seems  to  be  looking  at  a  people — I  do 
not  know  how  better  to  render  my  idea — who  are  all  perpetually 
thinking  of  the  same  thing.  The  same  impression  may  be  pro- 
duced on  the  mind  of  an  inhabitant  of  Southern  Europe,  at  the 
sight  of  a  people  of  the  north ;  but  there  is  a  difference.  These 
last  have  the  serious  and  self-contained  expression  of  persons 
occupied  about  their  own  affairs ;  but  the  Turks  have  the  aspect 
of  people  who  are  thinking  about  some  remote  and  indeterminate 
thing.  They  look  like  philosophers  all  bent  upon  one  thesis, 
or  somnambulists,  walking  about  unconscious  of  the  place  they 
are  in,  or  the  objects  about  them.     They  have  a  look  in  their 


THE    TURKS.  305 

eyes  as  if  they  were  contemplating  a  distant  horizon  ;  and  a 
vague  sadness  hovers  round  the  mouth,  like  people  accustomed 
to  live  much  alone,  and  shut  up  within  themselves.  All  have 
the  same  gravity,  the  same  composed  manner,  the  same  reserve 
of  language,  the  same  look  and  gesture.  From  the  Pasha  to 
the  shopkeeper,  all  are  endowed  with  a  certain  dignified  and 
aristocratic  air,  so  that  at  first  sight,  and  without  the  distinc- 
tions of  dress,  you  would  fancy  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a 
plebeian  in  Constantinople.  Their  faces  are  cold,  revealing 
nothing  of  their  mind  or  thought.  It  is  exceedingly  rare  to  find 
among  them  one  of  those  clear,  open,  expressive,  and  mobile 
visages  that  are  so  common  among  us.  Every  face  is  an 
enigma  ;  their  glance  questions  but  makes  no  response ;  their 
lips  betray  no  movement  of  the  heart.  It  is  impossible  to  ex- 
press the  deadening  weight  upon  the  stranger's  soul  produced 
by  those  mute,  cold  masks,  those  statuesque  attitudes,  those 
fixed  eyes  that  say  nothing.  Sometimes  you  feel  an  almost  irre- 
sistible impulse  to  shout  out  in  the  midst  of  them  : — '•  Come, 
more  like  other  men  for  once  !  tell  us  who  you  are,  what  you  are 
thinking  of,  and  what  you  see  in  the  air  before  you,  with  those 
glassy  eyes  !"  It  is  all  so  strange,  that  you  doubt  its  being 
natural,  and  imagine  for  a  moment  that  it  is  the  result  of  some 
agreement  among  themselves,  or  the  passing  effect  of  some 
malady  common  to  the  Mussulmans  of  Stamboul.  There  is 
however,  a  notable  difference  in  the  aspect  of  certain  of  the 
population,  in  spite  of  the  similarity  of  dress  and  manner.  The 
original  type  of  the  Turkish  race,  which  is  robust  and  hand- 
some, is  now  only  to  be  found  among  the  lower  orders  of  the 
people,  who  by  necessity,  or  from  religious  feeling,  copy  theit 


306  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

forefathers  in  sobriety  of  life.  Among  them  may  still  be  seen 
the  vigorous  body,  well  formed  head,  aquiline  nose,  brilliant 
eyes,  and  prominent  jaw,  and  a  something  strong  and  bold  in 
the  whole  person,  that  once  distinguished  the  race.  The  Turks 
of  the  higher  classes  however,  in  whom  old  corruption,  and  a 
mingling  of  foreign  blood  have  worked,  have  small  heads,  low 
foreheads,  dull  eyes,  pendent  lips,  and  bodies  gross  and  corpu- 
lent. And  to  these  physical  differences  may  be  added  the  still 
greater  moral  ones  that  exist  between  the  real  Turk  of  the  an- 
tique race,  and  that  ambiguous,  colorless,  inexpressive  being 
called  the  reformed  Turk.  Thus  it  is  difficult  to  study  the 
Turkish  people,  since  on  one  side,  there  is  no  possibility  of 
mixing  with  or  understanding  them,  and  on  the  other,  where 
there  are  facilities  of  observation  and  commerce,  they  represent 
neither  the  nature  nor  the  idea  of  the  nation.  But  even  corrup- 
tion and  the  new  tint  of  European  civilization  have  not  sufficed 
to  take  away  from  the  Turks  of  the  upper  classes  that  austere 
and  vague  melancholy  of  demeanor,  which  is  seen  among  the 
people,  and  which  produces  an  undeniably  favorable  impression. 
Judging  from  appearances  only,  the  Turkish  inhabitants  of  Con- 
stantinople are  the  most  civilized  and  polite  people  in  Europe. 
In  the  most  solitary  of  the  streets  of  Stamboul,  the  stranger  may 
wander  unmolested  ;  he  may  visit  the  mosques,  even  during 
prayer  time,  with  much  more  security  of  meeting  with  respect, 
than  a  Turk  would  have  in  our  churches  ;  in  the  crowd,  one 
encounters  no  insolent  look  or  word,  nor  even  one  of  curiosity; 
laughter  is  rare,  and  noise  and  disturbance  among  the  people 
very  rare  ;  there  is  no  public  indecency  of  any  kind  ;  the  mar- 
ket is  but  a  shade  less  dignified  than  the  mosque  ;  everywhere 


THE    TURKS.  307 

a  great  sobriety  of  words  and  gestures  ;  no  songs,  no  clamorous 
voices,  nothing  to  disturb  the  quiet  passenger;  faces,  hands  and 
feet  quite  clean,  ragged  or  dirty  garments  are  extremely  rare;  a 
universal  and  reciprocal  manifestation  of  respect  among  all 
classes.  But  fhis  is  only  on  the  surface.  The  rottenness  is 
concealed.  The  corruption  is  dissimulated  by  the  separation 
of  the  two  sexes,  idleness  is  hidden  under  tranquillity,  dignity 
is  the  mask  of  pride,  the  composed  gravity  of  countenance, 
which  resembles  thoughtfulness,  conceals  the  mortal  inertia  of 
the  intellect,  and  that  which  seems  temperance  of  life  is  nothing 
but  an  absence  of  life  in  its  true  sense. 

The  nature,  the  philosophy,  the  entire  existence  of  this  peo- 
ple is  signified  by  a  particular  condition  of  the  mind  and  body 
which  is  called  kief,  and  which  is  their  supreme  happiness.  To 
have  eaten  sparely,  to  have  drunk  a  cup  of  pure  water,  to  have 
prayed,  to  feel  the  flesh  in  repose  and  the  conscience  tranquil, 
and  to  be  somewhere  whence  can  be  seen  a  vast  horizon,  under 
the  shade  of  a  tree,  following  with  the  eye  the  flight  of  doves 
from  a  neighboring  cemetery,  distant  sails  of  vessels,  the  hum 
of  insects,  the  clouds  of  heaven,  and  the  smoke  of  the  narghile, 
vaguely  ruminating  upon  God,  on  death,  on  the  vanity  of  earthly 
things,  and  the  sweetness  of  eternal  rest ;  this  is  kief.  To  be  a 
quiet  spectator  on  the  great  world's  theatre  ;  this  is  the  Turk's 
highest  aspiration.  To  this  he  is  led  by  his  ancient  condition 
of  shepherd,  contemplative  and  slow,  by  his  religion  which  ties 
his  hands,  leaving  all  things  to  God,  by  his  traditions  as  a 
soldier  of  Islam,  which  teach  him  that  there  is  no  greater  or 
more  necessary  act  than  that  of  fighting  and  conquering  for  his 
faith,  and  the  battle  over,  every  duty  is  fulfilled.     All  is  fatal- 


308  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

ity  for  him  ;  man  is  only  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  Provi- 
dence ;  it  is  useless  for  him  to  try  and  direct  human  affairs, 
which  are  already  foreordained  in  heaven  ;  earth  is  only  a  great 
caravanserai ;  God  created  man  to  pass  through  it  praying  and 
admiring  His  works;  leave  all  things  to  Him  ;  let  that  which  is 
to  befall,  befall,  and  that  which  is  to  pass,  let  it  pass ;  we  will 
not  move  either  to  renew,  or  to  preserve.  Thus  his  one 
supreme  desire  is  tranquillity,  and  he  takes  care  to  shield  him- 
self from  all  and  every  commotion  that  might  disturb  the  placid 
harmony  of  his  existence.  Consequently,  there  is  neither  thirst 
for  knowledge,  nor  fever  of  gain,  nor  desire  for  travel,  nor  unap- 
peasable passion  of  love  or  ambition.  The  absence  of  so  many 
intellectual  and  physical  needs,  to  satisfy  which  we  labor  con- 
tinually, makes  the  Turk  unable  to  comprehend  our  reasons  for 
labor.  He  considers  it  as  an  indication  of  a  morbid  aberration 
of  mind  in  us.  The  ultimate  scope  of  every  fatigue  being  to 
him  necessarily  the  attainment  of  that  tranquillity  which  he 
seeks  as  the  highest  good,  he  thinks  it  wiser  and  better  to  reach 
it  by  the  shortest  way,  and  the  intellectual  and  manual  labor  of 
the  European  races  are  to  him  only  childish  puerilities,  in  no 
way  affecting  or  increasing  his  ideal  felicity.  Not  working,  he 
has  no  sense  of  the  value  of  time,  and  therefore  he  neither 
understands  nor  desires  those  inventions  of  human  genius  to 
shorten  time  and  space.  He  is  capable  of  asking  what  is  the 
use  of  a  railway,  unless  it  lead  to  a  city  where  you  can  be  hap- 
pier than  you  are  in  this  one.  His  fatalism,  which  considers  a 
thought  of  the  future  as  a  vain  thing,  makes  him  prize  nothing 
that  does  not  contribute  to  his  immediate  enjoyment.  Thus,  the 
European,  who  forecasts  and  foresees,  who  lays  the  foundations 


THE    TURKS.  30Q 

of  a  building  whose  completion  he  can  not  witness,  consuming 
his  strength,  and  sacrificing  his  peace,  is  an  idle  dreamer,  be- 
longing to  a  frivolous,  mean,  presumptuous,  and  bastard  race, 
who  aims  at  things  which  he,  the  Turk,  disdains,  unless,  indeed 
he  is  constrained  to  value  them,  or  go  under.  And  he  despises 
us.  This  appears  to  me  to  be  the  dominant  sentiment  which 
we  Europeans  inspire  in  the  true  Turk,  who  still  constitutes  the 
majority  of  the  nation. 

This  feeling  of  contempt  comes  from  various  causes,  the 
first  of  which  is  a  very  significant  fact:  viz — that  for  more  than 
four  centuries,  although  relatively  small  in  numbers,  they  have 
held  dominion  over  a  large  part  of  Europe  holding  a  different 
faith  to  their  own,  and  that  they  maintain  it,  despite  of  what 
may  happen  or  has  happened.*  The  smaller  half  of  the  nation 
sees  the  reason  of  this  in  the  jealousies  and  discords  of  the 
European  states ;  the  larger  part  sees  it  in  the  superiority  of 
their  strength,  and  in  our  own  debasement.  It  never  enters 
into  the  mind  of  any  Turk  of  the  lower  orders  that  Turkey  in 
Europe  could  ever  be  subjected  to  the  affront  of  a  Christian 
conquest  from  the  Dardanelles  to  the  Danube.  To  our  vault 
of  civilization  they  oppose  the  fact  of  domination.  Proud  by 
nature,  and  fortified  in  their  pride  by  the  customs  of  the  Em- 
pire, accustomed  to  hear,  in  the  name  of  God,  that  they  belong 
to  a  victorious  race,  born  to  the  arts  of  war,  and  not  to  those 
of  peace,  in  the  habit  also  of  living  upon  the  labors  of  the  con- 
quered, they  cannot  comprehend  how  a  people  subject  to  their 
sway  can  have  any  rights  whatever  to  civil  equality.  For  them, 
possessed  of  a  blind  faith  in  the  reign  of  a  sensible  Providence, 
*  Written  before  1878. 


3 1 0  COATS  TA  NTINOPLE. 

their  conquests  in  Europe  were  the  fulfilment  of  God's  decree. 
God  himself,  in  sign  of  favor,  invested  them  with  this  terrestrial 
sovereignty ;  and  the  fact  that  they  preserve  it,  in  the  teeth  of 
so  many  hostile  forces,  is  an  incontestible  proof  of  their  divine 
right,  and  at  the  same  time  a  luminous  argument  in  favor  of  the 
truth  of  their  religion. 

Against  this  sentiment  all  arguments  of  civilization,  rights, 
and  equality  are  useless.  Civilization  for  them  is  only  a  hostile 
force,  that  would  disarm  them  without  fighting,  and  little  by 
little,  would  treacherously  debase  them  to  an  equality  with  their 
subject  races,  and  despoil  them  of  their  domination.  Thus, 
they  not  only  despise  it  as  a  vain  thing,  but  they  fear  it  as  an 
enemy ;  and  as  they  may  not  subdue  it  by  force,  they  oppose  it 
with  the  invincible  resistance  of  their  inertia.  To  transform 
themselves,  to  be  civilized,  to  raise  their  subjects  to  equal 
rights,  is  for  them  to  enter  into  competition  with  those  who 
labor  and  study ;  to  acquire  a  new  superiority ;  to  make  again 
by  force  of  mind  the  conquest  already  made  with  the  sword ; 
and  to  this  are  opposed,  not  only  their  material  interests  as  the 
dominating  race,  but  their  religious  disdain  for  the  infidel,  their 
pride  as  soldiers,  their  indolence  becomes  a  second  nature,  the 
character  of  their  genius,  which  lacks  every  quality  of  imitation, 
and  their  five  traditional  ideas,  which  form  the  whole  intellec- 
tual patrimony  of  the  nation.  Also  according  to  the  one  ex- 
ample that  they  have  before  them  in  the  reformers  of  their 
nation,  who  wear  coats  and  gloves,  and  are  supposed  to  accept 
European  ideas,  the  new  Turk  is  not  worth  the  old  Turk.  He 
has  adopted  our  clothes,  our  conveniences,  our  vices  and  our 
vanities,  but  he  has  not  assimilated  either  our  sentiments  or 


THE    TURKS.  311 

our  ideas  ;  he  has  lost,  in  his  partial  transformation,  what  was 
good  in  the  genuine  Ottoman  nature,  and  has  acquired  nothing 
to  indemnify  him  from  the  European.  To  dress  and  to  live 
after  this  fashion,  is,  according  to  the  conception  of  the  old 
Turk,  to  be  civilized;  and  he  in  fact  calls  all  those  actions 
which  not  only  his  conscience  as  a  Mahometan,  but  his  con- 
science as  an  honest  man  condemns,  doing,  living,  and  thinking 
like  a  Frank.  He  considers  the  so  called  "  civilized  "  ones, 
not  as  Mussulmans  more  advanced  than  others  in  the  way  of 
amelioration-;  but  as  persons  fallen,  ruined,  something  less 
than  apostates,  and  betrayers  of  the  nation.  He  distrusts  nov- 
elty and  rejects  it  utterly,  if  only  because  it  comes  to  him  from 
that  quarter  whose  fatal  teachings  he  sees  every  day.  Every 
European  innovation  is  for  him  an  attempt  against  his  char- 
acter and  against  his  interests.  The  government  is  revolu- 
tionary, the  people  are  conservative  ;  the  seeds  of  new  ideas  fall 
on  hard,  compact  ground  that  refuses  to  fertilize  them;  the 
hand  that  holds  the  sword  waves  it,  but  the  blade  turns  in  the 
handle. 

These  are  the  reasons  why  the  attempts  at  reform  which 
have  been  going  on  for  fifty  years  have  not  yet  penetrated  the 
first  shell  of  the  nation.  The  names  have  been  changed  but 
the  things  remain.  The  little  that  has  been  done  was  effected 
by  violence,  and  the  people  attribute  to  this  the  growing  auda- 
city of  the  infidel,  the  corruption  that  is  seated  in  the  heart  of 
the  empire,  and  all  the  national  misfortunes.  The  organism, 
the  life,  the  traditions  of  the  Turkish  people  are  those  of  a  vic- 
torious army  encamped  in  Europe  ;  it  exercises  the  authority, 
enjoys  the  privileges  and  feels  the  pride  of  such  an  army;  and 


3  1 2  CONS  TA  N  TINOPLE. 

like  it,  prefers  a  discipline  of  iron,  its  power  over  the  vanquished 
conceded,  to  a  milder  discipline  which  would  enchain  its  will 
as  a  conqueror.  The  hope  that  such  a  state  of  things,  un- 
changed for  centuries,  can  change  in  a  few  years,  is  a  dream. 
The  light  vanguard  of  civilization  may  proceed  as  rapidly  as  it 
will,  but  the  bulk  of  the  army,  still  weighted  with  its  heavy 
mediaeval  armor,  either  moves  not  at  all,  or  at  a  great  distance 
and  with  very  slow  steps.  It  must  be  remembered  what  things 
of  yesterday  are  the  blind  despotism,  the  janissaries,  the 
Seraglio  garlanded  with  severed  heads,  the  sentiment  of  the 
invincibility  of  the  Osmanli,  the  Christian  raya  considered  and 
treated  as  an  inferior  creature,  the  ambassadors  of  France  kept 
outside  of  the  throne  room,  and  there  fed  and  clothed,  in  order 
to  symbolize  the  vile  poverty  of  the  infidel  in  presence  of  the 
Grand  Signor.  But  upon  this  argument,  there  is  not,  I  think, 
great  disparity  of  opinion  between  the  Europeans  and  the  Turks 
themselves.  The  disparity  of  judgment,  and  hence  the  difficulty 
for  a  stranger  to  come  to  a  proper  conclusion,  is  in  the  estima- 
tion of  the  native  individual  qualities  of  the  Turk  ;  since  if  ybu 
question  the  raya  you  will  hear  nothing  but  the  rage  of  the  op- 
pressed against  the  oppressor ;  and  if  you  appeal  to  the  free 
European  of  the  colonies,  who  has  no  reason  either  to  hate  or 
fear  the  Turks,  but  on  the  contrary  is  in  general  content  with 
the  actual  state  of  things,  you  will  obtain  a  possibly  conscien- 
tious but  certainly  excessively  favorable  opinion.  The  most  of 
them  agree  in  pronouncing  the  Turks  to  be  honest,  frank,  loyal, 
and  sincerely  religious.  But  with  regard  to  the  religious  sen- 
timent, the  preservation  of  which  seems  to  be  considered  as  a 
great  merit,  it  is  to  be  noted,  that  their  religion  does  not  oppose 


THE    TURKS.  313 

itself  either  to  their  tendencies  or  to  their  interests  ;  it  even 
caresses  their  sensuality,  justifies  their  laziness,  and  sanctifies 
their  domination  3  they  hold  to  it  tenaciously,  for  they  feel  that 
in  its  dogma  lies  their  nationality,  and  in  its  faith  their  destiny. 
With  regard  to  their  probity,  many  proofs  are  cited  of  individ- 
ual facts  such  as  might  be  paralleled  among  the  most  corrupt 
European  peoples. 

But  it  must  be  considered  that  ostentation  has  no  small 
part  in  the  probity  which  the  Turk  shows  in  his  commerce  with 
Christians,  since  he  will  often  do  from  pride  what  he  would  not 
do  from  a  simple  conscientious  impulse,  and  is  unwilling  to  ap- 
pear in  any  way  less  than  persons  to  whom  he  holds  himself 
superior  by  race  and  moral  value.  So  also  are  born  from  the 
same  conditions  certain  qualities,  abstractly  praiseworthy,  such 
as  frankness,  pride,  dignity,  which  perhaps  might  not  have  been 
preserved  had  the  Turk  been  the  oppressed  instead  of  the  op- 
pressor. The  sentiment  of  charity,  however,  can  not  be  denied 
him,  which  is  the  only  balm  for  the  infinite  woes  of  a  badly 
ordered  society,  although  it  encourages  indolence  and  multiplies 
misery  ;  nor  other  sentiments  which  belong  to  a  certain  nobility 
of  spirit,  such  as  gratitude  for  small  benefits  received,  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  memory  of  the  dead,  hospitality  and  courtesy, 
and  kindness  to  animals.  His  feeling  of  the  equality  of  all 
social  classes  is  also  good  ;  and  a  certain  severe  moderation  in 
his  character  is  undeniable,  which  transpires  in  the  innumerable 
proverbs  full  of  wisdom  and  prudence  ;  a  certain  patriarchal 
simplicity,  and  a  vague  tendency  to  solitude  and  melancholy, 
which  excludes  vulgarity,  or  a  baseness  of  soul.  Nevertheless 
all  these  qualities  float,  so  to  speak,  on  the  surface,  in  the  un- 
14 


314  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

disturbed  tranquillity  of  his  ordinary  life  ;  and  below,  sleeping 
as  it  were,  lie  his  violent  Asiatic  nature,  his  fanaticism,  his  fury 
for  war,  his  barbarian  ferocity,  which  being  stimulated,  break 
forth,  and  he  becomes  another  man.  There  is  a  saying  that 
the  Turk  has  a  mild  nature,  when  he  is  not  cutting  off  heads. 
The  Tartar  is  sleeping  within  him.  His  native  vigor  is  entire 
within  him,  preserved  by  the  very  softness  of  his  life,  and  only 
used  on  supreme  occasions.  In  him  religious  and  warlike  pas- 
sion finds  a  field  unspoiled  by  doubts,  or  by  a  rebellious  spirit, 
or  by  the  shock  of  ideas;  an  instantaneously  inflammable  sub- 
stance ;  a  blade  forever  sharpened,  upon  which  is  written  the 
names  of  God  and  Sultan.  Social  life  has  scarcely  softened  in 
him  the  antique  man  of  the  steppe  and  cabin.  Spiritually  he 
still  lives  in  the  city  as  he  lived  among  his  tribe,  solitary  with 
his  own  thoughts.  There  is  not,  however,  among  them  any- 
thing like  a  social  life.  The  existence  of  the  two  sexes  recalls 
the  image  of  two  parallel  streams,  never  confounding  their 
waters,  except  here  and  there  by  subterranean  conjunction. 
The  men  gather  together  but  have  no  real  intimacy,  no  exchange 
of  thought ;  they  draw  near,  but  are  not  bound  ;  each  prefers  to 
any  expansion  of  his  own  mind,  that  which  a  great  poet  defines 
as  the  "dull  vegetation  of  ideas.-'  Cur  rapid  and  varied  con- 
versation, jesting,  discussing,  teaching,  renev/ing,  our  necessity 
for  exchange  of  thought  and  feeling,  in  which  the  intelligence 
is  excited  and  the  heart  warmed,  is  scarcely  known  among 
them.  Their  discourse  is  in  general  confined  to  material  and 
necessary  things.  Love  is  excluded,  literature  is  the  privilege 
of  few,  science  is  a  mere  atom,  politics  is  reduced  to  a  question 
of  names,  business  occupies  but  a  very  small  part  of  their  day. 


THE    TURKS.  3 15 

The  nature  of  their  intelligence  is  contrary  to  abstract  discus- 
sions. Tbey  comprehend  well  only  that  which  they  see  and 
can  touch  ;  their  language  furnishing  proof  of  this,  for  when 
they  wish  to  express  an  abstraction,  they  must  have  recourse  to 
Persian  or  Arabic,  or  a  European  language.     .     .     . 

The  Turk  tolerates  the  Armenian,  despises  the  Jew,  hates 
the  Greek,  and  distrusts  the  Frank.  He  endures  them  all  when 
necessary,  as  a  big  animal  endures  a  myriad  of  flies  upon  his 
back,  ready  to  make  way  with  them  as  soon  as  they  become 
unendurable.  He  looks  on  while  things  are  changed,  ordered, 
directed  about  him  ;  takes  from  the  European  what  may  be  use- 
ful to  himself,  accepts  innovations  whose  material  advantages 
he  recognizes  as  immediate ;  hears  without  winking  the  lessons 
of  civilization  that  are  given  him  ;  changes  laws  and  ceremonies, 
allows  himself  to  be  improved,  embellished,  and  made  to  wear 
a  mask  ;  but  within  he  is  immutably,  invincibly  the  same. 


3  T  6  CONSTANTINOPLE. 


THE  BOSPHORUS. 

We  had  hardly  gone  on  board  of  our  vessel  when  a  grey  veil 
seemed  to  spread  itself  over  Constantinople,  and  upon  it  were 
drawn  the  mountains  of  Moravia  and  Hungary,  and  the  Alps  of 
lower  Austria.  It  is  always  a  rapid  change  of  scene  for  those 
who  find  on  board  their  ship  the  faces  and  the  accents  of  the 
country  for  which  they  are  bound.  We  are  imprisoned  in  a 
circle  of  German  visages  which  make  us  feel  before  our  time  the 
cold  and  tedium  of  the  north.  Our  friends  have  left  us  ;  we  see 
only  three  white  handkerchiefs  waving  from  a  distant  caique,  in 
front  of  the  custom  house,  among  a  crowd  of  black  boats.  We 
are  at  the  same  point  where  our  Sicilian  steamer  lay  on  the  day 
of  our  arrival.  It  is  a  lovely  autumn  evening,  warm  and  splen- 
did. Constantinople  has  never  looked  grander  or  more  smiling. 
For  the  last  time  we  strive  to  fix  in  our  memories  the  outlines 
of  her  immense  proportions,  and  the  soft  enchanting  color  that 
surrounds  her,  making  her  like  a  visionary  city,  and  once  more 
we  gaze  into  the  perspective  of  that  wondrous  Golden  Horn, 
which  in  a  moment  will  be  hidden  from  us.  The  vessel  moves, 
and  everything  changes  place.  Scutari  advances,  Stamboul 
retires,  Galata  wheels  round  as  if  to  see  us  depart.  Adieu,  O 
Golden  Horn  !  A  cloud  of  ships  hides  from  us  the  suburb  of 
Kassim-Pasha,  another  cloud  obliterates  Eyub,  another,  the 
sixth  hill  of  Stamboul ;  the  fifth  disappears,  the  fourth  is  hid- 


THE  BOSPHORUS.  3 17 

den,  the  third  vanishes,  the  second  is  gone ;  the  hill  of  the 
Seraglio  alone  remains,  and  thank  heaven,  we  shall  not  lose 
that  for  a  while.  We  are  steaming  rapidly  through  the  very 
middle  of  the  Bosphorus.  The  quarter  of  Top-hane,  the 
quarter  of  Funduclu  are  past  ;  the  white  carved  fat;ade  of  the 
palace  of  Dolma-Bagtche,  flies  by  ;  and  for  the  last  time  Scu- 
tari extends  her  amphitheatre  of  hills,  covered  with  gardens  and 
villas.  Adieu,  Constantinople  !  great  and  beloved  city,  dream 
of  my  childhood,  aspiration  of  my  youth,  indelible  memory  of 
my  life  !  Adieu,  lovely  and  immortal  queen  of  the  East !  May 
time  change  thy  destiny,  taking  nothing  from  thy  beauty,  and 
may  my  sons  one  day  behold  thee  with  the  same  fervor  of 
youthful  enthusiasm  with  which  I  see  and  leave  thee  ! 

The  sadness  of  farewell,  however,  endures  but  for  a  moment, 
because  another  Constantinople,  more  vast,  more  beautiful,  more 
gay  than  that  left  behind  extends  before  us  on  the  two  loveliest 
shores  in  the  world. 

The  first  village  on  the  left,  or  European  shore  is  Bescik-Tass ; 
a  large  Turkish  village  at  the  foot  of  a  hill,  around  a  small  port. 
Behind  opens  a  pretty  valley  ;  the  ancient  valley  of  the  Allori 
di  Stefano  which  runs  towards  Pera  ;  among  the  houses  rises 
a  group  of  plane  trees  that  shade  the  tomb  of  the  famous  cor- 
sair Barbarossa  ;  a  large  cafe,  crowded  with  people,  projects  out 
over  the  water,  sustained  by  a  forest  of  piles ;  the  port  is  full 
of  boats  and  caiques  ;  the  shore  thronged  with  people,  the  hil'i 
covered  with  vegetation,  and  the  valley  full  of  houses  and  gar- 
dens. But  it  has  not  the  look  of  a  suburb  of  Constantinople. 
There  is  already  the  air  of  gayety  and  grace  proper  to  the  villa- 
ges on  the  Bosphorus.     We  have  scarcely  beheld  it,  when  it  is 


3 1 8  CON  STAN  TINOPLE. 

gone,  and  we  are  passing  the  palace  of  Cheragan,  or  rather  a 
row  of  palaces  built  of  white  marble,  simple  and  elegant,  with 
long  files  of  pillars,  crowned  with  terraces  and  balustrades,  and 
bordered  by  a  living  fringe  of  the  white  birds  of  the  Bosphorus, 
standing  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  dark  verdure  of  the  hills. 
While  we  try  to  catch  Cheragan  as  it  flits  by,  on  the  other  side 
the  Asiatic  shore  is  fleeting  on  unseen,  with  delicious  villages, 
pretty  enough  to  buy  and  carry  off  like  jewels.  Thus  vanishes 
Kuzgundgiuk,  tinted  with  all  the  colors  of  the  iris,  with  its  little 
port,  where  tradition  says  that  the  heifer  Io  landed  after  having 
swam  across  the  Bosphorus  to  escape  the  gad-flies  of  Juno ; 
Istanros  with  its  beautiful  mosque  with  two  minarets  passes  ; 
the  imperial  palace  of  Beylerbey  appears  and  disappears,  with 
its  conical  and  pyramidal  roofs,  and  its  walls  of  grey  and  yel- 
low, looking  odd  and  mysterious,  like  a  convent  of  princesses  ; 
and  then  the  village  of  Beylerbey,  reflected  in  the  water,  with 
Mount  Bulgaria  rising  behind  ;  and  all  these  villages  gathered 
or  scattered  at  the  foot  of  green  hills  whose  luxuriant  vegetation 
seems  ready  to  cover  them  all  over,  are  connected  together  by 
garlands  of  villas  and  houses,  and  long  files  of  trees  running 
along  the  shore,  or  coming  down  in  zig-zags  from  the  heights  to 
the  sea,  through  gardens  and  fields  of  infinite  shades  of  green. 
There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  resign  ourselves  to  see  every- 
thing at  a  glance,  turning  continually  our  heads  from  side  to 
side,  with  the  regularity  of  automata.  A  little  beyond  Chera- 
gan, is  seen  on  the  left,  the  large  village  of  Orta-Kioi ;  above 
which  the  mosque  of  the  Sultana  Valide  shows  its  shining  dome, 
and  the  graceful  roofs  of  the  palace  of  Riza-Pasha  are  seen, 
with  the  white  walls  of  the  imperial  kiosk  of  la  Stella.     Orta- 


THE  BOSPHORUS.  319 

Kioi  is  inhabited  by  numerous  bankers,  Armenian,  Frank,  and 
Greek.  As  we  passed,  the  steamboat  from  Constantinople  was 
just  landing  her  passengers  and  taking  in  more  who  stood 
waiting  in  a  crowd  upon  the  steps.  There  were  Turkish  and 
European  ladies,  officers,  monks,  eunuchs,  dandies,  fezes,  tur- 
bans, stove  pipe  hats,  and  military  kepis,  all  mingled  together ; 
a  spectacle  that  may  be  seen  at  all  the  twenty  landing  places  on 
the  Bosphorus,  especially  toward  evening.  Opposite  Orta- 
Kioi,  on  the  Asiatic  shore,  stands  the  village  of  Cheugel,  or  the 
anchor,  from  an  old  iron  anchor  found  there  by  Mahomet  the 
Second  ;  and  above  it  rises  the  white  kiosk  of  fatal  memory,  from 
which  Murad  the  Fourth,  gnawed  by  savage  envy,  ordered  to 
instant  death  the  careless  people  who  passed  cheerfully  singing 
through  the  fields.  Turning  again  towards  Europe,  we  see  the 
pretty  village  and  graceful  port  of  Kuru-Chesme,  the  ancient 
Anapolis,  where  Medea,  disembarking  with  Jason,  planted  the 
famous  laurel  ;  and  on  the  other  side  between  two  smiling  vil- 
lages, an  immense  parrack,  like  a  palace,  mirrored  in  the  water. 
Behind  these  buildings  is  a  hill  crowned  with  gardens  on  which, 
almost  hidden  by  trees,  is  the  white  kiosk  where  Soliman  the 
Great  lived  three  years  in  hiding,  concealed  in  a  small  tower 
from  the  spies  and  executioners  of  his  father  Selim.  But  it  is 
impossible  to  see  them  all  ;  one  village  blots  out  another,  and 
while  we  look,  glide  by  one  after  the  other  palaces  of  Sultans 
and  nobles,  houses  yellow,  blue,  and  purple,  seeming  to  float 
upon  the  water,  clothed  with  ivy  and  half  hidden  in  shrubs  and 
trees,  with  latticed  balconies  suspended  over  the  sea,  and  mar- 
ble steps  running  down  to  it.  It  is  a  species  of  Grand  Canal 
in  an  immeasurable  rural  Venice. 


320  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Looking  back  towards  Constantinople,  we  still  see  dimly  the 
Seraglio  hill  and  the  enormous  dome  of  Saint  Sophia  defined 
upon  the  limpid  golden  sky.  The  scene  about  us  changes. 
We  seem  to  be  in  a  vast  lake.  A  little  bay  opens  to  the  right, 
another  to  the  left.  On  the  European  side  lies  in  a  semicircle 
the  pretty  Greek  town  of  Bebek,  shaded  by  large  trees,  and  with 
a  fine  ancient  mosque,  and  an  imperial  kiosk  where  the  Sultans 
used  to  give  secret  audience  to  European  ambassadors.  One 
portion  of  the  town  is  quite  hidden  by  trees  ;  the  other  is  scat- 
tered about  the  side  of  a  hill  covered  with  oaks,  on  the  top  of 
which  is  a  grove  famous  for  a  very  potent  echo  which  answers 
to  the  trampling  of  one  horse  with  the  sound  of  a  cavalry  squad- 
ron. It  is  a  sweet  and  smiling  landscape,  but  the  Asiatic  shore 
at  this  point  is  a  terrestrial  paradise.  On  a  broad  promontory 
arching  out  into  the  sea  stands  Kandilli,  many  colored  as  a 
Dutch  village,  with  a  white  mosque,  and  a  gay  cortege  of  villas. 
Behind  it  rises  the  hill  of  Igiadie,  surmounted  by  a  battlemented 
tower  whence  watch  is  kept  for  fires  along  the  shore.  To  the 
right  and  left  of  Kandilli  two  valleys  open  to  the  sea  ;  the  val- 
leys of  the  great  and  small  "  celestial  streams,"  between  which 
extend  the  beautiful  fields  of  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Asia,  shaded 
with  sycamores,  oaks  and  plane  trees,  and  overlooked  by  the 
splendid  kiosk  of  the  mother  of  Abdul  Medjid,  surrounded  by 
rose  gardens.  Beyond  the  larger  of  the  "  celestial  streams," 
upon  a  height, stand  the  slender  towers  of  the  castle  of  Bajazet- 
Ilderim,  confronting  the  castle  of  Mahomet  Second,  on  the  op- 
posite shore.  All  this  beautiful  part  of  the  Bosphorus  was  at 
that  moment  full  of  life  and  color.  Hundreds  of  boats,  sailing 
vessels,  and  steamers  were  passing  to  and  fro ;  Turkish  fisher- 


THE  BOSPHORUS.  321 

men  were  casting  their  nets,  from  a  sort  of  airy  cages,  sustained 
upon  the  water  by  crossed  beams  of  wood  ;  on  one  side  a  steam- 
boat from  Constantinople  was  landing  a  motley  crowd  of  gayly 
dressed  people,  and  on  the  other  could  be  discerned  groups  of 
Turkish  ladies  and  children  seated  under  the  trees  and  beside 
the  stream  of  the  Sweet  Waters.  It  looked  like  a  brilliant  fes- 
tival, and  had  an  air  of  Acadia,  that  made  me  long  to  live  and 
die  in  the  midst  of  this  Mussulman  beatitude. 

But  again  the  spectacle  changes  and  all  these  fancies  take 
to  flight.  The  Bosphorus  now  extends  straight  before  us  and 
has  a  vague  resemblance  to  the  Rhine,  but  always  with  the 
rich  warm  color  of  the  East.  To  the  left  a  cemetery  covered 
with  a  forest  of  pines  and  cypresses,  breaks  the  line  of  houses 
until  then  unbroken,  and  on  the  side  of  the  rocky  hill  of  Her- 
maion,  rise  the  three  great  towers  of  Rumili-Hissar,  the  Castle 
of  Europe,  encircled  by  battlemented  walls  and  smaller  towers, 
that  descend  in  picturesque  ruin  to  the  water  side.  This  is  the 
fortress  that  was  built  by  Mahomet  Second  in  the  year  before 
the  conquest  of  Constantinople,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances 
of  Constantine,  whose  ambassadors  were  driven  back  with 
threats  of  death.  Here  the  current  is  most  impetuous,  (called 
by  the  Greeks  "great  current,"  and  by  the  Turks,  "current  of 
Satan.")  And  the  two  shores  are  not  more  than  five  hundred 
yards  apart.  It  was  here  that  Mendocles  of  Samos  threw  his 
bridge  of  boats  across,  over  which  the  seven  hundred  thousand 
soldiers  of  Darius  passed,  and  here  also  are  supposed  to  have 
passed  the  ten  thousand  returning  from  Asia.  But  there  is  no 
trace  left  either  of  the  two  columns  of  Mendocles,  or  of  the 
throne,  cut  in  the  rock  from  which  the  Persian  monarch  watched 
14* 


322  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

the  passage  of  his  army.  A  little  Turkish  village  is  shyly 
perched  at  the  feet  of  the  castle,  and  the  Asiatic  shore  recedes 
ever  greener  and  gayer,  with  a  constant  succession  of  gardens, 
villas,  and  palaces.  The  steamer  approaches  now  one  now  the 
other  shore,  and  then  details  of  the  landscape  can  be  seen  more 
clearly :  here  the  vestibule  of  the  selamlik  of  some  rich  Turk's 
house,  opening  upon  the  sea,  in  which  a  stout  major  domo  is 
smoking  stretched  at  ease  on  a  divan ;  there  a  eunuch  is  assist- 
ing two  veiled  ladies  to  step  into  their  caique  from  the  marble 
steps  of  a  villa ;  further  on  a  small  garden  surrounded  by  a 
hedge,  and  almost  entirely  covered  by  the  branches  of  one  great 
plane  tree,  at  the  foot  of  which  sits  cross-legged  a  white-bearded 
Turk,  meditating  upon  the  Koran  ;  families  grouped  upon  their 
terraces ;  flocks  of  sheep  and  goats  feeding  in  the  fields  above ; 
horsemen  galloping  along  the  shore  and  camels  passing  over 
the  hills,  with  their  strange  figures  outlined  against  the  sky. 

Suddenly  the  Bosphorus  widens,  the  scene  changes,  we  are 
again  in  a  vast  lake  between  two  bays.  To  the  left  lies  the 
Greek  town  of  Istenia ;  called  Sosthenios  from  the  temple  and 
winged  statue  erected  there  by  the  Argonauts,  in  honor  of  the 
tutelary  genius,  who  had  made  them  victorious  in  their  struggle 
against  Amico,  king  of  Bebrice.  Opposite  Istenia  on  the  Asi- 
atic side,  the  Turkish  village  of  Chibulku  shows  itself  among 
the  trees,  and  here  was  once  the  renowned  convent  of  the 
Digili,  or  watchers,  who  prayed  and  sang  without  cessation 
night  and  day.  The  shores  of  the  Bosphorus  are  full  of  the 
memory  of  these  cenobites  and  fanatical  anchorites  of  the  fif- 
teenth century,  who  wandered  about  the  hills,  bending  under 
the  weight  of  chains  and  crosses,  tormented  by  hair  shirts  and 


THE  BOSPHORUS.  323 

iron  collars,  or  sitting  for  weeks  and  months  motionless  upon 
the  top  of  a  column  or  a  tree,  while  around  them  came,  fasting, 
praying,  and  prostrating  themselves  all  ranks  of  people  from 
princes  to  beggars,  invoking  a  benediction  or  a  word  of  coun- 
sel, as  a  favor  from  God. 

******* 

But  all  the  beauty  that  has  gone  before  is  as  nothing  when 
we  arrive  before  the  Gulf  of  Buyukdere.  Here  is  the  supreme 
majesty  and  crowning  glory  of  the  Bosphorus.  Here  whoever 
has  been  weary  of  its  loveliness  and  has  irreverently  expressed 
that  feeling,  will  now  uncover  his  head  and  ask  pardon.  We 
are  in  the  middle  of  a  vast  lake  surrounded  with  marvels,  that 
make  one  wish  to  spin  round  like  a  dervish  on  the  prow  of  the 
vessel  in  order  to  lose  none  of  them.  On  the  European  shore, 
upon  the  slopes  of  a  hill  covered  with  greenery  and  dotted  with 
innumerable  villas,  lies  the  city  of  Buyukdere,  vast,  and  varied 
in  color  like  a  bouquet  of  flowers.  The  town  extends  to  the 
right  as  far  as  a  small  bay,  or  gulf  within  a  gulf,  along  the  edge 
of  which  lies  the  village  of  Kefele-Kioi,  and  behind  this  opens 
a  wide  valley,  all  green  with  fields,  and  white  with  houses, 
which  leads  to  the  great  aqueduct  of  Mahmoud  and  the  forest 
of  Belgrade.  It  is  the  same  valley  in  which,  according  to  tra- 
dition, the  army  of  the  first  Crusade  encamped;  and  one  of  the 
seven  gigantic  plane  trees  for  which  the  place  is  famous,  is 
called  the  tree  of  Godfrey  de  Bouillon. 

From  this  to  Kefele-Kioi,  opens  another  bay,  and  beyond 
that  is  seen  Terapia,  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  dark  green  hill. 
When  the  eye  turns  from  this  towards  Asia,  it  is  with  a  senti- 
ment of  amazement.     There  before  it  is  the  highest  mountain 


324  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

of  the  Bosphorus,  the  Giant,  in  the  form  of  an  enormous  green 
pyramid,  and  upon  it  is  the  famous  sepulchre  known  in  three 
different  legends,  as  "the  bed  of  Hercules,"  the  "tomb  of 
Amico,"  and  the  "grave  of  Joshua,  Judge  of  the  Hebrews." 
It  is  now  in  the  custody  of  two  dervishes,  and  is  visited  by  in- 
firm Mussulmans,  who  deposit  fragments  of  their  clothing  upon 
it.  The  mountain  pushes  its  green  and  flowery  slopes  down  to 
the  very  shore,  where  between  two  promontories  lies  the  lovely 
bay  of  Umuryeri.  Before  us  shines  the  Black  Sea;  and  if  we 
turn  towards  Constantinople,  we  can  still  discern,  beyond  Te- 
rapia,  in  the  dim  purple  distance,  the  bay  of  Kalender,  Kieni- 
Kioi,  Sultanie,  like  phantoms  of  some  unreal  world.  The  sun 
nears  the  horizon  ;  the  European  shore  begins  to  veil  itself  in 
shadows  of  grey  and  azure ;  the  shore  of  Asia  is  still  golden,  the 
waters  flash  in  the  level  rays;  swarms  of  boats  loaded  with 
husbands  and  lovers  returning  from  Constantinople,  approach 
the  shore,  crossing  other  boats  filled  with  ladies  and  children ; 
from  the  cafes  of  Buyukdere  come  intermittent  sounds  of  in- 
strument and  song  ;  eagles  circle  about  the  Giant  mountain, 
halcyons  skim  the  water,  dolphins  dart  about  our  vessel,  the 
fresh  breeze  from  the  Black  Sea  cools  our  cheeks.  This  is  the 
last  vision.  The  ship  steams  out  of  the  Gulf  of  Buyukdere. 
We  see  on  the  left  the  village  of  Saryer  surrounded  by  ceme- 
teries, and  having  in  front  a  small  bay,  formed  by  the  antique 
promontory  of  Simas,  where  stood  the  temple  of  Venus  Mere- 
trix,  much  worshipped  by  Greek  sailors ;  then  the  village  of 
Jeni-Makalle ;  then  the  fort  of  Teli-Tabia,  which  confronts  an- 
other fort  on  the  Asiatic  side,  at  the  foot  of  Giant  mountain  ; 
then  the  castle  of  Rumuli-Cavak,  the  severe  outline  of  its  walls 


THE  BOSPHORUS.  325 

drawn  upon  the  rosy  twilight  sky.  Opposite  again  is  another 
fortress,  crowning  the  promontory,  where  once  stood  the  tem- 
ple of  the  twelve  gods,  built  by  the  Argive  Frygos,  near  that  of 
Jove,  "distributor  of  propitious  winds,"  founded  by  the  Chalce- 
donians,  and  converted  by  Justinian  into  a  church  consecrated  to 
the  Archangel  Michael.  This  is  the  point  where  the  Bosphorus 
narrows  for  the  last  time,  between  the  last  buttresses  of  the 
mountains  of  Bythinia,  and  the  extreme  point  of  the  chain  of 
the  Hemus;  always  considered  as  the  first  gate  of  the  canal,  to 
be  defended  against  northern  invasion,  and  the  theatre,  conse- 
quently, of  obstinate  struggles  between  Byzantine  and  barba- 
rian, Venetian  and  Genoese.  Two  Genoese  fortresses  facing 
one  another  between  which  an  iron  chain  was  thrown  closing 
the  entrance,  are  still  to  be  seen  with  their  ruined  walls  and 
towers. 

From  this  point  the  Bosphorus  goes  widening  to  the  sea  ; 
the  shores  are  high  and  steep,  like  two  enormous  bastions,  and 
show  only  a  few  groups  of  mean  houses,  a  solitary  tower,  the 
ruins  of  a  monastery,  or  the  remains  of  some  ancient  mole. 
After  some  time  we  can  still  see  gleaming  on  the  European  side 
the  lights  of  the  village  of  Buyuk-Liman,  and  on  the  other  the 
lantern  of  a  fortress  which  dominates  the  promontory  of'  Ele- 
phanta  ;  then,  on  the  left,  the  great  rocky  mass  of  ancient 
Gipopoli,  where  once  stood  the  palace  of  Phineo,  infested  by 
the  Harpies  ;  and  on  the  right  the  fortress  of  Cape  Poiraz,  like 
a  vague  dark  stain  upon  the  greyish  sky.  Here  the  shores  are 
far  apart  ;  the  canal  is  already  a  gulf,  the  night  descends,  the 
sea  wind  moans  among  the  cordage  of  our  ship,  and  the  gloomy 
Mar  Cimmerium  extends  before  us  her  livid  and  restless  hori- 


326  CONSl^ANTINOPLE. 

zon.  But  the  imagination  cannot  yet  detach  itself  from  those 
shores  so  full  of  poetic  memories,  is  not  yet  satiated  with  the 
beauty  of  nature  ;  it  flies  to  the  feet  of  the  Balkans  to  seek  the 
tower  of  the  exiled  Ovid,  and  the  marvellous  wall  of  Anasta- 
stius ;  and  wanders  off  over  a  vast  volcanic  land,  across  forests 
invested  by  wild  boars  and  jackals,  and  inhabited  by  a  savage 
and  ill-omened  race,  in  search  of  the  /era  litori  Ponti.  Two 
fiery  points  like  the  eyes  of  two  Cyclops  break  the  darkness  for 
the  last  time ;  the  Anaduli-Fanar,  or  Asian  light  on  one  side, 
the  Rumili-Fanar,  or  European  light  on  the  other,  below  which 
the  fabulous .  Simplegades  show  vaguely  for  an  instant  the 
tormented  peoples  of  their  rocks.  Then  the  two  coasts  are 
only  two  dark  lines,  and  then,  quocumque  adspicias,  nihil  est  nisi 
ponlus  et  aer,  as  poor  Ovid  sang. 

My  beautiful  dream  of  the  Orient  is  no  more. 


FINIS. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS. 

CONSTANTINOPLE.  By  Edmundo  de  Amicis,  author  of  "A  Journey 
through  Holland,"  "Spain  and  the  Spaniards,"  &c.  Translated  by 
Caroline  Tilton.  With  introduction  by  Prof.  Vincenzo  Botta. 
Octavo,  cloth. 

A  trustworthy  and  exceptionally  vivid  description  of  the  city  which,  in  the  present 
reopening  of  the  Eastern  question,  is  attracting  more  attention  than  any  other  in  the 
world.  De  Amicis  is  one  of  the  strongest  and  most  brilliant  of  the  present  generation  of 
Italian  writers,  and  this  latest  work  from  his  pen,  as  well  from  the  picturesqueness  of  its 
descriptions  as  for  its  skilful  analysis  of  the  traits  and  characteristics  of  the  medley  of 
races  represented  in  the  Turkish  capital,  possesses  an  exceptional  interest  and  value. 

THE  GREEKS  OF  TO-DAY.  By  Hon.  Charles  K.  Tuckerman, 
late  Minister  Resident  of  the  U.  S.  at  Athens.  Third  Edition.  i2mo, 
cloth, $1.50 

This  work  attracted  special  attention  at  the  time  of  its  publication,  in  1872,  as  giving 
a  trustworthy  and  interesting  picture  of  life  in  Greece,  and  of  the  character  and  status  of 
the  modern  Greek.  At  this  time,  when  public  attention  is  so  generally  directed  towards 
the  scheme  of  practically  re-establishing  a  Greek  empire  and  Greek  supremacy  in  the 
East,  it  is  thought  that  a  new  edition  will  prove  of  interest  and  service. 

"  The  information  contained  in  the  volume  is  ample  and  various,  and  it  cannot  fail 
to  hold  a  high  rank  among  the  authorities  on  modern  Greece." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  No  one  can  read  this  book  without  having  his  interest  greatly  increased  in  this 
brave,  brilliant,  and  in  every  way  remarkable  people." — N.  Y.  Times. 

"  We  know  of  no  book  which  so  combines  freshness  and  fullness  of  information."— 
N.  Y.  Nation. 

ENGLAND ;  POLITICAL  AND  SOCIAL.     By  Auguste   Laugel. 

Translated  by  J.  M.  Hart.     i2mo,  cloth,        .        .        .        .       $1.50 

"It  is  written  with  a  tone  of  confidence  and  force  of  expression  which  captivate." 
— Buffalo  Commercial. 

"  Affords  a  clear,  distinct,  and  comprehensive  view  of  the  political  institutions  of 
England." — N.  Y.  Nation. 

"  Here,  in  every  sense,  is  a  charming  book.     *     *     *     *     So  full  of  thought,  that, 
like  the  best  of  Macaulay's  Essays,  it  will  bear  reading  more  than  once.      *      *      *      * 
We  have  rarely  met  with  more  picture-like  descriptions  of  what  seems  to  have  dwelt  most 
upon  his  mind — English  landscape  scenery  and  rural  life." — N.  Y.  World. 

THE    SILVER  COUNTRY;   or,   THE   GREAT   SOUTHWEST. 

A  Review  of  the  Mineral  and  other  Wealth,  with  the  attractions  and 
material  development  of  the  former  kingdom  of  New  Spain,  comprising 
Mexico  and  the  territory  ceded  by  Mexico  to  the  United  States  in  1848 
and  1853.  By  Alexander  D.  Anderson.  8vo,  cloth,  with  Hypso- 
metric Map, $1  75 

"Just  at  the  present  moment  everything  which  affords  reliable  information  on  the 
question  of  silver,  its  uses  and  production,  is  of  almost  paramount  interest." — Washington 
National  Republican. 

"  A  very  useful  book  for  those  who  wish  to  study  the  silver  question  in  its  funda- 
mental feature." — Chicago  Journal. 

"  The  book  will  unquestionably  become  the  authority  on  the  subject  of  which  it 
treats." — St,  Louis  Republican. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS  have  in  preparation  a  series  of  volumes,  to  be 
issued  under  the  title  of 

CURRENT   DISCUSSION, 

A  COLLECTION  FROM  THE  CHIEF  ENGLISH  ESSAYS  ON  QUESTIONS 
OF  THE  TIME. 

The  series  will  be  edited  by  Edward  L.  Burlingame,  and  is  designed  to 
bring  together,  for  the  convenience  of  readers  and  for  a  lasting  place  in  the 
library,  those  important  and  representative  papers  from  recent  English  periodi- 
cals, which  may  fairly  be  said  to  form  the  best  history  of  the  thought  and  in- 
vestigation of  the  last  few  years.  It  is  characteristic  of  recent  thought  and 
science,  that  a  much  larger  proportion  than  ever  before  of  their  most  important 
work  has  appeared  in  the  form  of  contributions  to  reviews  and  magazines  ;  the 
thinkers  of  the  day  submitting  their  results  at  once  to  the  great  public,  which  is 
easiest  reached  in  this  way,  and  holding  their  discussions  before  a  large  audience, 
rather  than  in  the  old  form  of  monographs  reaching  the  special  student  only. 
As  a  consequence  there  are  subjects  of  the  deepest  present  and  permanent  in- 
terest, almost  all  of  whose  literature  exists  only  in  the  shape  of  detached  papers, 
individually  so  famous  that  their  topics  and  opinions  are  in  everybody's  mouth 
— yet  collectively  only  accessible,  for  re-reading  and  comparison,  to  those  who 
have  carefully  preserved  them,  or  who  are  painstaking  enough  to  study  long 
files  of  periodicals. 

In  so  collecting  these  separate  papers  as  to  give  the  reader  a  fair  if  not 
complete  view  of  the  discussions  in  which  they  form  a  part ;  to  make  them 
convenient  for  reference  in  the  future  progress  of  those  discussions  ;  and  especi- 
ally to  enable  them  to  be  preserved  as  an  important  part  of  the  history  of 
modern  thought, — it  is  believed  that  this  series  will  do  a  sen-ice  that  will  be 
widely  appreciated. 

Such  papers  naturally  include  three  classes : — those  which  by  their  originality 
have  recently  led  discussion  into  altogether  new  channels ;  those  which  have 
attracted  deserved  attention  as  powerful  special  pleas  upon  one  side  or  the 
other  in  great  current  questions  ;  and  finally,  purely  critical  and  analytical  dis- 
sertations. The  series  will  aim  to  include  the  best  representatives  of  each  of 
these  classes  of  expression. 


It  is  designed  to  arrange  the  essays  included  in  the  Series  under  such  gen- 
eral divisions  as  the  following,  to  each  of  which  one  or  more  volumes  will  be 
devoted : — 

INTERNATIONAL  POLITICS,  NATURAL  SCIENCE, 

RECENT  ARCHAEOLOGICAL  DISCOVERY, 

QUESTIONS  OF  BELIEF, 

ECONOMICAL  AND  SOCIAL  SCIENCE, 

HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY,  LITERARY  TOPICS. 

Among  the  material  selected  for  the  first  volume  (International  Politics), 
which  will  be  issued  immediately,  are  the  following  papers : 

Archibald  Forbes's  Essay  on  "The  Russians,  Turks,  and  Bul- 
garians;" Vsct.  Stratford  de  Redcliffe's  "Turkey;"  Mr.  Glad- 
stone's "Montenegro;"  Professor  Goldwin  Smith's  Paper  on  "The 
Political  Destiny  of  Canada,"  and  his  Essay  called  "  The  Slaveholder 
and  the  Turk;"  Professor  Blackie's  "Prussia  in  the  Nineteenth  Cen- 
tury ;  "  Edward  Dicey's  "Future  of  Egypt;"  Louis  Kossuth's 
"What  is  in  Store  for  Europe;"  and  Professor  Freeman's  "Relation 
of  the  English  People  to  the  War." 

Among  the  contents  of  the  second  volume  (Questions  of  Belief),  are : 

The  two  well-known  "Modern  Symposia;"  the  Discussion  by  Professor 
Huxley,  Mr.  Hutton,  Sir  J.  F.  Stephen,  Lord  Selborne,  James  Martin- 
eau,  Frederic  Harrison,  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  the  Duke  of  Argyll, 
and  others,  on  "  The  Influence  upon  Morality  of  a  Decline  in  a  Re- 
ligious Belief;  "  and  the  Discussion  by  Huxley,  Hutton,  Lord  Blatchford, 
the  Hon.  Roden  Noel,  Lord  Selborne,  Canon  Barry,  Greg,  the  Rev. 
Baldwin  Brown,  Frederic  Harrison,  and  others,  on  "The  Soul  and 
Future  Life.  Also,  Professor  Calderwood's  "Ethical  Aspects  of  the 
Development  Theory  ; "  Mr.  G.  H.  Lewes's  Paper  on  "The  Course  of 
Modern  Thought;"  Thomas  Hughes  on  "The  Condition  and  Pros- 
spects  of  the  Church  of  England;"  W.  II.  Mallock's  "Is  Life 
Worth  Living  ? "  Frederic  Harrison's  "  The  Soul  and  Future  Life  ; " 
and  the  Rev.  R.  F.  Littledale's  "The  Pantheistic  Factor  in  Christian 
Thought." 

The  volumes  will  be  printed  in  a  handsome  crown  octavo  form,  and  wil' 
sell  for  about  $i  50  each. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  182  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York- 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS. 

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COMPREHENSIVE,  COMPACT  AND  CONVENIENT 

FOR  REFERENCE. 

THE  HOME  ENCYCLOPAEDIA 

OF   BIOGRAPHY,    HISTORY,    LITERATURE, 
CHRONOLOGY  AND  ESSENTIAL  FACTS. 

COMPRISED    IN    TWO     PARTS. 


I>rice  in  Cloth,   $9  50 ;    in  half  Morocoo,  $14  50. 

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Arabian.     Persian    and    Turkish. 

American. 
Heathen  Deities  and  Heroes  and  Her 

oines  of  Antiquity. 
Tabular  Views  ok  Universal  History. 
Biographical  Index,  General. 

The  Same  of  Artists. 

Schools  of  Painting  in  Chronological 

Tables. 


PART      I 

THE    WORLD'S    PROGRESS 

A  Dictionary  of  Dates,  being  a  Chronological  and  Alphabetical  Record 
of  all  Essential  facts  in  the  Progress  of  Society,  from  the  beginning  of 
History  to  August,  1877.  With  Chronological  Tables,  Biographical  Index, 
and  a  Chart  of  History, 

By     G.     P.     PUTNAM,    A.M. 
Revised  and  continued  by  F.  B.  Perkins.     In  one  handsome  octavo  volume 
of  1,000  pages,  cloth  extra,  $4.50  ;   half  morocco,  $7.00. 

•  contents: 

The  World's  Progress,  1867— 1877. 
The  Same  1851 — 18(>7. 

The  Same  from  the  Beginning  of  His- 
tory to  1851. 
United  States  Treasury  Statistics. 
Literary  Chronology,  arranged  in  Ta- 
bles:   Hebrew,   Greek,  Latin  and 
Italian,  British,  German,   French, 
Spanish   and    Portuguese,    Dutch, 
Swedish,  Danish,   Polish.   Russian, 
"A  more  convenient  labor-savin?  machine  than  this  excellent  compilation  can 
scarcely  be  found  in  any  language." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

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Courier. 

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ier &*  Enquirer, 

THE   CYCLOPAEDIA   OF  BIOGRAPHY 

A    RECORD    OF    THE    LIVES    OF    EMINENT    MEN 
By     PARKE     GODWIN. 

New  edition,  revised  and  continued  to  August,  1877.      Octavo,   containing 
1200  pages,  cloth,  $5.00  ;   half  morocco,  $7.50. 

The  Publishers  claim  for  this  work  that  it  presents  an  admirable  combination  of 
compactness  and  comprehensiveness.  The  previous  editions  have  recommended  them- 
selves to  the  public  favor,  as  well  for  the  fulness  of  their  lists  of  essential  names,  as  for 
the  accuracy  of  the  material  given.  The  present  edition  will,  it  is  believed,  be  found  still 
more  satisfactory  as  to  these  points,  and  possesses  for  American  readers  the  special 
advantage  over  similar  English  works,  in  the  full  proportion  of  space  given  to  emi- 
nent American  names. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS. 

Standard  Works  of  Reference. 

PUTNAM  (George  Palmer)  The  World's  Progress.  A  Diction- 
ary of  Dates.  Being  a  Chronological  and  Alphabetical  Record  of  the 
essential  facts  in  the  progress  of  Society.  With  Tabular  views  of  Uni- 
versal History,  Literary  Chronology,  Biographical  Index,  etc.,  etc. 
From  the  Creation  of  the  World  to  August,  1877.  By  George  P 
Putnam.  Revised  and  continued  by  Frederic  Beecher  Perkins. 
Octavo,  containing  about  1,200  pages,  half  morocco,  $7  00 ;  cloth 
extra, $4  50 

***  The  most  comprehensive  book  ot  its  size  and  price  in  the  language. 

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S.  W.  Piegart,  Principal  of  High  School,  Lancaster,  Pa. 

"  A  more  convenient  literary  labor-saving  machine  than  this  excellent  compila- 
tion can  scarcely  be  found  in  any  language." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

HAYDN.  A  Dictionary  of  Dates,  relating  to  all  Ages 
and  Nations,  for  Universal  Reference.  By  Benjamin  Vin- 
cent. The  new  (15th)  English  edition.  With  an  American  Supple- 
ment, containing  about  200  additional  pages,  including  American  Topics 
and  a  copious  Biographical  Index,  by  G.  P.  Putnam,  A.  M.  Large 
Octavo,  1,000  pages.     Cloth  $9  00 ;  half  russia      .         .         .     $12  00 

THE  BEST  READING.  A  classified  bibliography  for  easy  reference. 
Edited  by  Frederic  B.  Perkins.  Fifteenth  edition,  revised,  enlarged 
and  entirely  re-written.     Continued  to  August,  1876.     Octavo,  cloth, 

$1  \  5  ;  paper $1  25 

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library." — N.  V.  Independent. 

PUTNAM'S  LIBRARY  COMPANION  A  quarterly  summary, 
giving  priced  and  classified  lists  of  the  English  and  American  publica- 
tions of  the  past  three  months,  with  the  addition  of  brief  analyses  or 
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tinuation of  The  Best  Reading.     Published  in  April,  July,  October, 

and  January.  Price  to  subscribers,  socts.,  a  year.  Vol.  I.,  boards,  socts. 
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alike  to  librarians,  to  students,  and  to  general  readers."—  Boston  Traveler. 

JUKES  (THE)  A  Study  in  Crime,  Pauperism,  Disease,  and 
Heredity.  By  R.  L.  Dugdale.  Published  for  the  "Prison  As- 
sociation of  New  York."    Octavo,  cloth        .         .         .         .         $1  25 

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former, aud  deserves  the  attention  of  every  citizen  and  taxpayer."— M.  V.  Tribune. 

JERVIS  (John  B.)  Labor  and  Capital.  A  complete  and  compre- 
hensive treatise  by  the  veteran  engineer,  whose  experience  of  more  than 
half  a  century  has  given  him  exceptional  opportunities  for  arriving  at  a 
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Just   Published : 

FOR    REFERENCE,    LIBRARIES,    AND     FOIILY     D«ft, 

The  Library  Atlas, 

Consisting  of  100  Maps  of  Modern,   Historical,   and  Classical 

Geography,  and  4  Astronomical  Charts,  with  descriptive 

Letter-press  hy  Bryce,  Collier,  and  Schmitz/ 

and  copious  Indices,  containing  over 

50,000  names.     Large  8vo. 

Half  morocco,  neat 14  00 

Half  morocco,  extra 16  00 

A  most  exhaustive  and  comprehensive  work  of  reference. 
It  gives,  brought  down  to  the  latest  date,  all  the  information 
and  statistics  to  be  found  in  the  expensive  and  unwieldy 
folio  Atlases,  while  its  convenient  octavo  shape,  the  beauty 
and  accuracy  of  its  maps,  which  include  Classical  and  His- 
torical, as  well  as  Modern  Geography,  its  complete  index, 
which  forms  a  Gazetteer  by  itself,  and  its  moderate  price, 
rendei  it  especially  adapted  for  college,   school,   and  student 

DM. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS, 

182  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York. 


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Series  9482 


